


Transformers: Heroes

by CrystineDecepticon



Category: The Transformers (Cartoon Generation One), The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Action/Adventure, All Femme Crew, Alternate Universe of an Alternate Universe, Autobot-Neutral Alliance, Drama, F/M, Heroic Decepticons, Large Cast, Ongoing epic, Sci-Fi, Second Chances, Secret Identities, Suspense, Worldbuilding, multiple lead characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:48:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 198,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24905599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrystineDecepticon/pseuds/CrystineDecepticon
Summary: Heroic Decepticons AU. A century ago, the eons-old war between the Autobots and the Decepticons suddenly and inexplicably came to an end. Since then, many have gone their separate ways, whilst others still hold onto the bitter memories of war. Now, as Autobots and Neutrals join forces in a new directive to capture every Decepticon still left alive, it appears that the Autobots will finally get their chance to even the score, and defeat their enemies once and for all. But when they become the target of seemingly random, yet terrifying attacks, some begin to realize that the enemy may be much closer to home than anyone could have ever imagined.
Relationships: Arcee/?, Chromia/Ironhide, Elita One/Optimus Prime, Thunderblast/?
Comments: 19
Kudos: 14





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Original publish date: 22 August 2016  
> Revised: 25 June 2020
> 
> Set primarily on Cybertron and Alternity City, this ongoing web novel deviates from certain key elements common in Transformers canon. For one thing, the general consensus that all Autobots are good and Decepticons are evil is challenged, and a new meaning to the motivations behind their conflict is offered (which is a recurring theme in my Heroic Decepticons Alternate Universes). Some personalities have been altered from their canonical profiles as a necessity. Note: Relationship tags are included as a general guide only.
> 
> I am revising and reposting this here on AO3 for you to enjoy. I've written 18 chapters so far. I will try to post a chapter every day (or two) until it's up to date. Earlier chapters especially needed cleaning up anyway.
> 
> I'd love to know what you think, so reviews, questions or comments are most welcome.

_Prologue_

_Alternity City, the greatest cybernetic planet within the Destron Space Precinct located in the Gamma Sector, thrived. Its many provinces spanned across most of the planet's surface, and were always alive and bustling with activity. The City's subterranean world, which consisted of several interconnecting layers, was even more incredible, both in population and in size._

_The City, in large part, remained divided, unclaimed by any single governing faction or party, and as a result it had become a cesspool for crime, corruption and all manner of clandestine operations. Gangs and crime lords from all over the City fought for domination of the biggest suburban territories, and violence was a common, every day occurrence. Out upon the surface, along the busy streets and in between the alleyways that separated the sleek, metallic skyscrapers, passersby ignored as best they could the brawls and skirmishes that were commonplace, as they hurried through on their way home from a long work day, doing nothing to render assistance._

_Despite this insane state of affairs within the City, there would be some sort of order. A powerful faction would be reborn and lay claim to this torn, yet vastly resourceful, city. Each passing day saw the opportunity for new leadership to grow stronger, emerging from within the planet's murky depths until it had established itself supreme above all others. Inevitable competition between rival groups ensured that only the strongest and the most ruthless among them would prevail, sorting the leaders from the followers, the strong from the weak._

_A steadily increasing number of mechanoids were now, more than ever before, willing to pledge their allegiance and undying loyalty to the undefeated, self-appointed ruler of the City - the High Commander of the Hitec Subterranean Base, as he was known to his subordinates. For the first time since the Great Devastation during the Third Era, when entire suburbs had been destroyed and very few mechs survived, his loyal followers could once again grow in strength and numbers. Opportunity for great change was now upon them as the time had finally come for the worthy elite to build their empire, an unstoppable force unsurpassed by any other in the known universe. Then they would take all that was rightfully theirs._

_The Hitec Base was a stark, gloomy and unwelcoming network of rooms and tunnels. Well hidden from the rest of the City, it spanned a massive area below the planet's surface, and its advanced defence network made it virtually impervious to enemy surveillance. It was perfectly suited to their purpose. Added to that, they had accumulated enough energy and resources for the next stage of their plan._

_The mech watched silently from a darkened corner of the control tower, deep within the bowels of the Subterranean Base. Nothing escaped his notice, not even during the peak of the recharge cycle. He was often the last one online, and the first to awaken. He had become a silent, unobtrusive presence; so much so that the other mechanoids had eventually come to ignore him after many long years, had all but ceased to question his motives, or his purpose for being. He seldom spoke, and refused to become involved in squabbles that frequently arose within the base. All they knew of him was that he served as their supreme leader's personal informant and confidante, and usually answered to no one else._

_As two mech-rats scurried across the floor, he hardly turned his head to acknowledge them. Instead, he moved over to one of the security terminals, ignoring the flickering light panel emanating from the adjacent control station as he walked past. The systems were on stand by. He input the codes to access the network with slow and deliberate movements, as if carefully contemplating his every move. The monitor beside the control panel whirred abruptly to life, and a rudimentary map of the security network was displayed before him. He studied it intently._

_The High Commander of the regime would expect the usual security report and, just like a reliable chronometer, the mech would provide it. The High Commander would be kept informed of anything and everything that occurred within the underground base... and the High Commander, also, as the mech had learned quite some time ago, liked to keep his identity concealed. However, the mech knew more about their supreme leader than he dared to reveal._

_An unauthorized group of signatures appeared on the screen, alerting the mech to a possible security breach. A tracking beacon soon revealed the source of the signatures. Mechanoids with transformable configurations. Cybertronian mechanoids with enhanced flight capability._

_As he watched the movement of the intruders - five of them in all - he took no action to intercept them, or to stop them. Instead, the mech continued watching them as the jets approached a wide runway within the perimeter to the North. They began to pick up speed at a relatively fast rate, and further analysis confirmed that they were heading towards the primary power grid._

_He stepped away from the console and silently waited in the semi-darkness, watching them with interest._

* * *

Elita One looked out through her cruiser's view screen towards the Red Nebula in the Delta Sector, her hand resting lightly against the bulkhead. She took a moment to recognize the silent emptiness that was deep space, and how lonely it often got out here, indeed – how lonely it _was_ out here but, luckily for her, she was in the company of a very capable and close-knit crew, who commandeered a very capable warship.

She generally liked the feeling of being in command, as she was in this moment. However, their current mission had proven futile thus far, and she realized now that there was no better option but to return home. She shook her head, and turned back towards her crew. "Turn the ship around! We're going home," she ordered, heading back towards the captain's chair and sitting down.

One of her all-femme crew looked up from her navigational console with slight hesitation. "Wait, Elita – we're still detecting a vapor trail–"

Elita One gave a small sigh. "We could be detecting Unicron's exhaust port as far as we know – we're not going to waste any more time or energy on this ridiculous wild goose chase," she explained in frustration, and then softened her tone a little. "Don't worry about Cybertron Command, Chromia. I'll handle them."

The blue femme relented, and returned to her console. There would be no arguing with Elita One - although she did agree with her sentiments - regardless of what Command would think of them when they returned home with nothing. They had been searching this part of space for several weeks now, following one useless sensor reading after another, only to come up empty-handed. They may as well have been chasing their own tail-pipes for all the good that their little recon mission had accomplished. Perhaps intel had got it wrong this time. Chromia turned the ship around on a course back to Cybertron, and stepped back from the console, nodding to the Autobot femme commander.

"Do you know how long it's been since we were part of something meaningful, Chrome?" Elita asked, calling her second-in-command by her nick.

"No, I don't. I haven't really thought about it, to be honest," Chromia replied, walking casually over to her. She and Elita had been the best of friends for the longest time, and outside of duty they completely disregarded their ranks – to Chromia, Elita was just another one of the femmes, and vice versa.

"Four deca cycles, Chrome. An entire warship at our disposal, and we've been on nothing but useless scout missions. Can you believe it?" Elita responded, shaking her head at the thought.

"Well, they haven't been pointless, exactly," Chromia began, although her conviction was weak. "Besides, somebody had to do it, and we happened to be available, that's all."

"Maybe, but it's a job for first year cadets - not for us. I'm going to speak to Prime about getting transferred to the Gamma Sector. That's where we should be right now."

Chromia looked at her friend, and noticed the inner fire in her optics, the intense desire to be a part of something greater. It was what Elita had been created for, what she lived for, and being away from the front lines for too long caused all her frustrations and resentments to inevitably surface. Part of her understood her friend's need; a deep and rarely expressed part of her psyche that, once she was engaged in a fierce battle against an enemy, could no longer be kept under control. Just like the rest of the femmes here aboard the _Avenger_ , they were both warriors at spark. "You think that the rumors are true?" Chromia asked her, after a long pause.

Elita turned to face her, and considered her question carefully. "Yes, I think they are. And I also think there's a lot more going on than even those in Command will ever care to admit."

"Elita, we can't deviate from our assigned mission without going through the proper channels. You know that, right?" the blue femme reminded her gently, reading her thoughts.

"The proper channels?" the pink and white femme replied, laughing sardonically at the thought. "The High Council doesn't play by the rules – so why should we?" She leaned her head back against the chair's head rest in contemplation. Ah yes… the great Cybertronian High Council - the planet's peak governing body - and its direct authority over all of the Command hierarchy's major decisions. Many at Iacon Central had turned a blind optic to their blatant rise to power at the end of the Last Great War, which had forced an uneasy cease-fire between the Autobots - who had always recognized the Council's authority and abided by their wishes; and the Decepticons, a group of rebels who had been dissatisfied with the way the Council had run things from the beginning. Effectively, the Cybertronian High Council had quickly put an end to the eons-old war between the two factions, but at what price? Elita couldn't help but wonder whether things had actually improved since then, or whether one problem had simply been replaced for another - one that was possibly far worse, and far more insidious than the first. And now that rumors of a new and deadly group originating in the Gamma Sector were beginning to surface, she couldn't help but feel that the Council knew more about it than they claimed - perhaps a lot more. Too many incidents from that region of space had been thus far unaccounted for, and an increasing number of reports of Autobots who had gone missing without any reasonable explanation only served to strengthen her conviction. "Don't worry, I won't do anything you wouldn't approve of – I promise. Okay?" she said finally, and smiled reassuringly.

Chromia nodded resignedly. "Okay."

* * *

Megatron slipped through the visitors' checkpoint on the ground floor of the Command Center in Iacon Central - the Autobots' main base of operations - and made his way along its hallways and then up several levels, intent on reaching his destination. He did so silently, without any fanfare or warning, moving past the occasional Autobot, who, startled, instinctively stepped aside to make way for him. The Decepticon leader hardly glanced at them, barely even acknowledged them. Even when two security bots realized who he actually was and called for a backup security team, he simply continued past them. He wasn't interested in the usual formalities that all visiting mechs were required to go through in order to be granted permission to enter the Center. "Get out of my way," he muttered dismissively, as he turned a corner into a brightly lit hallway.

The Autobot guards followed him, trying to keep the larger mech within their sights. One of the guards, a blue colored mini-bot by the name of Tailgate, gave his usual, oft-practiced speech he usually gave to any mech who attempted entrance into their base without the proper clearance. "Excuse me, sir? You'll need a security pass to enter. This area is off limits to unauthorized personnel. Please leave immediately, or we will have to escort you out-"

Megatron stopped short, turning to face him. "Is that a threat, Autobot?" He looked down upon the smaller mech, optics a fiery red. His fusion cannon was prominently mounted upon his right arm. Satisfied that he had made his point, he turned back and continued at a steady pace down the hall. Tailgate continued after him, much less confidently now, and saw his security backup approaching from the far end of the passageway behind them.

The two guards caught up to the Decepticon Military Commander whilst trying to avoid running into other bots as they entered the busy Control Room, and after a few moments they arrived at a large operations room known as Communications Central. Megatron came to a stop directly outside, as several guards and soldiers surrounded him. Seemingly oblivious of the various standard-issue weapons pointed directly at him, he quickly scanned the area for the Autobot Commander.

"Sir, this is your final warning…" Tailgate began again, but then trailed off as they all turned to acknowledge two approaching mechs, who had been alerted to the sudden commotion.

Optimus Prime, accompanied by Prowl, a high ranking officer and Chief of Security, came to a stop before the Military Commander.

"Prime," the silver and black mech acknowledged, red optics filled with the will and determination that was typical of the Decepticon leader.

Optimus nodded and glanced towards Prowl who, upon understanding Prime's unspoken command, vocalized his objection. "Prime, I must insist on having him removed immediately. He is in direct violation of security protocols," Prowl said, looking the Decepticon leader over, then added with a scowl, "Besides, Decepticon scum isn't welcome here."

"Prowl, not now," Prime interjected, and motioned for the Security Chief to back down.

"But Prime-"

"I'll handle it from here."

Prowl reluctantly lowered his weapon, then motioned the others to do the same but kept his gaze locked upon the Decepticon leader, ready to take defensive action at a moment's notice if need be.

As the Autobot Commander beckoned for his long-time rival to follow him away from the communications center and towards the main conference room nearby, he spoke in his usual calm and even tone. "You really shouldn't have come here, Megatron. For your own sake, as well as ours."

"Never mind that," Megatron replied with irritation, as they entered the room. The door closed, and the two of them were alone. He wasted no time in getting to his point. "Listen carefully, Optimus Prime, because Cybertron's future depends on what actions you are about to take. The Council has been coordinating a silent takeover that has been in the making for many stellar cycles now. When are you going to realize they are simply using you and the rest of the Autobots to further their own agenda?"

Optimus watched him silently, giving away nothing of his own thoughts and feelings. It seemed ironic to him that he should be standing here now, in the heart of Autobot territory with the Decepticon leader himself, after not having seen or heard from him for many years.

Megatron, however, seemed to behave as though only a month had gone by since they had last spoken. He continued, "We have reason to believe that an old enemy is regaining a foothold in key locations throughout the Gamma Region… it's just a matter of time before-"

Optimus interrupted him with a raised hand. "And you want me to believe that the Decepticons have no involvement with any of them?"

Megatron would have given him a look of incredulousness, but he quickly realized that such accusations were only typical of the Autobot Commander and so, instead, he turned away in disgust.

Optimus continued unperturbed. "Weren't you the one who claimed that the Decepticons should have total supremacy over Cybertron, and the rest of the galaxy, all those vorns ago? Why would things be any different now?"

The Decepticon Commander looked at him directly. "Yes - if it had come down to a choice between _them_ or us," he rebuked, referring to the various groups who had vied for power and supremacy over the vorns, including the High Council itself. "And with the Autobots at their every beck and call, who would remain to ensure the future of our race?"

Optimus visibly stiffened, and backed away, his tone now terse. "That's not true and you know it. The Council had no authority or influence over us. Yes, we’ve sought their advice and they’ve often accepted our help – but that's only because their goals are no different to ours! I would never approve that which I am not also prepared to accept full responsibility for."

"Ah, yes, but all that has since changed, hasn't it?" Megatron reminded him somberly. After pausing for a brief moment, he continued. "If you refuse to accept what is truth and fail to take the necessary actions, we will all pay the ultimate price for your shortcomings." His voice was calm and direct, yet his contempt for the Autobot Commander's stubborn belief in what, to him, was nothing more than a corrupt political regime remained evident. "And you, alone, must live with the consequences of your decisions for the rest of your existence."

"What would you have me do? Force the Council, and perhaps the rest of Cybertron, to submit to _your_ demands?" Optimus rebutted, still unconvinced of the Decepticon Commander's motives.

Megatron knew that his words of warning would ultimately be ignored, and that the time for such talks would soon run out. Yet he continued in his attempt to make the other see reason. "To begin with, you could grant the Autobots true sovereignty from those who would take away their independence."

"The Council does not dictate our every move, and they are reluctant to do anything without my approval," Optimus defended.

"Is that so? Well then, I suggest you directly refute their next directive, and see what happens," Megatron challenged, almost with a smirk. "You are a fool, Optimus Prime. As long as you remain unwilling to stand up against them, then you will be personally held accountable for Cybertron's ruin."

Optimus had heard enough, and was starting to feel restless. He thought that a slight change in direction might help steer the conversation more in his favor. "I've already spoken with the Council, and they are prepared to do whatever is necessary to protect Cybertron from harm. I see no reason to stop them," Optimus explained, his tone steadfast.

"How many more Autobots must die before you start to see reason?" Megatron's tone was harsh, accusatory.

"Since when did you care about the Autobots?" Optimus fired back, anger at the other's bluntness, then at himself for having taken the bait. He fought to regain control. "It is you, Megatron, who has no proof of what he is saying," he added. Then, as he began pacing slowly across the room, he changed tactic. "Don't you think I would tell you if I believed for one cycle that the High Council had something to hide?" Optimus replied. "But as it currently stands, that would be unfair." He stopped pacing, and looked back towards his long-time rival. "No… in fact, if there's anyone here with anything to hide, it would be you."

"You would like nothing better than for me to confess my involvement in all of this, so that you can lay blame on the Decepticons. Is that not so?" Megatron countered, but did not wait for a reply. "Of course you would. Not only would you gain the support of the masses, but your rightful place as the esteemed leader of the Autobot Alliance would never be disputed. You will have won the hearts and minds of every good cybernetic citizen in the galaxy, while the rest of us 'war criminals' are punished."

The Autobot leader stood quietly, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with what had been said, showing no emotion, until finally he spoke again. "I am sorry you feel that way, Megatron. Truly. If there is any mech alive capable of ending this futile struggle and restoring peace on our planet, it would be you. But alas, it seems that it is not to be." When Megatron gave no reply, he continued after a pause. "You should know that the Council has given official recognition to the Neutrals as their representatives." He wasn't sure what kind of a reaction this news would elicit from the Decepticon Commander, but he guessed that it wouldn't be favorable. 

He was right; this news only served to reinforce Megatron's sentiments towards Cybertron's main governing body. Sentiments that were far from positive. "This will only make things more difficult," he said finally. "I will not allow them to jeopardize all that we have stood for, Prime - even if it means going directly against their ruling. You know as well as I do that the Autobot-Neutral Alliance is just a cover. They will infiltrate your command structure and take control, and then they will be left without opposition." His optics were intense once more, his strength of conviction evident. "It's what they've always wanted."

"Perhaps, but we have no evidence as such, and until we do I must remain wary of those who are in disagreement," he replied, and then paused for a few moments. "Megatron... if you stand in the way of Council's decisions, I cannot condone your actions. I will take it as a renewed declaration of war against not only the Council itself, but against the Autobots."

Megatron looked directly towards the Prime Commander, a hint of regret in his expression. "Then nothing has changed." He exited the room, as Prime silently watched him leave.

* * *

There was nothing like a refill of refined energon, straight from the tap. It invigorated the systems, recharged an otherwise tired and overworked main processor, and brought an extra spark to the optics. On his days off, Sideswipe liked to do just that – indulge in some non-essential fuel intake.

He was a solidly built, red and black Autobot, taller than the average assembly line worker. Yep, that's what he was – an assembly line automated coil injector worker bot. Fascinating work, he thought with sarcasm, as he placed his order for another energon batch at the front of the _Bar Magna_ – an often crowded and noisy energon bar where common worker bots gathered to unwind from a day's monotonous labor. After a few minutes, his order was placed in front of him. He picked it up and made his way to an empty two-seater table at the back of the bar - his usual hangout.

Settling back and taking in a refreshing mouthful of the pink substance, he allowed his thoughts to wander. Scanning the room with his optics, he checked to see if there were any new faces around today. He noted the usual workers, a couple of Autobot security personnel, who came in occasionally to keep an optic on things, and a table of Neutrals. He couldn't help but notice the way the Neutrals, in particular, stayed close to one another, as if they were protecting themselves from some external threat by relying on safety in numbers. He shook his head and casually looked away to avoid their suspicions. He had been observing them constantly for the last… what felt like several stellar cycles, and the more he watched them, the more he had begun to question their political motives. Something about them just didn't seem right. The Neutrals had proclaimed themselves a peaceful, non-warring faction, dedicated to bringing Cybertron back to its Golden Era and former glory. In the past, they had vehemently denied any official association with the current establishment, yet things were changing and they now seemed to be doing the very opposite. Granted, the High Council had also denied exercising any political favoritism, insisting that its small group of members operated independently and existed only for the good of Cybertron as a whole, yet that had not stopped them from appointing the Neutrals as their official intermediary faction all the same.

The two Autobot security mechs came and went, and the bar finally quieted down. A pink and white femme passed by him then, holding a small data pad in her hand, and he glanced up at her. She caught his gaze, and stopped.

"Sideswipe, is that you?" she started, slight surprise in her voice.

A smile appeared on the mech's face, and he nodded casually. "Hey, Arcee. What are you doing here?" he answered.

"I've just completed my application and was passing through on my way back to Iacon Central," she explained, then smiled. "It's so good to see you again, Sides. How long has it been?"

"Too long," Sideswipe replied. "So, what's the application for? Or is it top secret?" he asked, nodding towards the data pad.

"Oh, no. They're asking for trackers, so I thought I'd give it a go. I know it's not my area of expertise, but I figured what have I got to lose? Good posts are really hard to come by. Going back to Iacon might help me get a foot in the door, maybe even help get me back into the ranks." She handed him the data pad, and took a seat beside him. "Here, tell me what you think."

Sideswipe slowly sat up straight and watched her intently as she spoke, before looking down at the data pad and reaching out his hand to take it. He studied the data for a few kliks, and then handed the pad back to her. "Looks like you've got a good set of skills. They'd be crazy not to take you back." He smiled.

The femme nodded and fell into quiet contemplation as she read through her application again. She seemed satisfied with it. She gave him a small sigh and a shrug. "Thanks." Then her expression suddenly changed and her optics glowed brighter as she looked back towards him. "Oh! Why don't you put in an application as well? It'd be fun, and we'd be doing something meaningful, helping the Autobot cause. Just like old times!"

Sideswipe didn't give her a reply; instead he indicated towards his energon container and then looked towards the bar. "Listen, can I get you something?"

"Oh, no thank you. I've really got to get going soon. I'm just looking forward to going home, to be honest," she replied with a small sigh of relief.

"Look, Arcee – I'll be honest with you," he said, motioning towards the data pad in her hand. "I can't go back there again, and if there's any truth at all to the rumors I've been hearing lately, I don't think I want to be involved, anyway. Besides, they won't want me back, not after my colorful service record."

"Oh, you don't know that for sure," she replied, trying to reassure him. "They wouldn't hesitate to take you back; you're far too valuable." She further reflected upon what he had just told her. "What rumors?"

Sideswipe looked down at the table, averting his optics. "Oh, you know... they're just stupid rumors." He shrugged. "They probably don't mean anything." He seemed to change his mind and wished that he hadn't mentioned any rumors to her in the first place. "I don't trust the new Alliance, anyway."

She thought for a moment before replying. "You mean, the Alliance with the Neutrals?" she asked, and he nodded. She instinctively lowered her voice slightly as they glanced over towards the table of Neutrals across the room. The group of mechs was getting louder by the klik with every additional refill of energon consumed. She nodded in understanding. "They believe themselves to be superior, don't they?"

Sideswipe sensed that to be true. In fact, he would probably guess that most Autobots sensed it, too. "Well, that's not surprising. I've been watching them, and let's just say that there's more to their new accord than meets the optic."

"Do you mean their sudden partnership with the Council?" she asked, curious.

Sideswipe shifted in his seat a bit, hesitating with his reply. "Yeah. But don't ask me to explain it any further, Arcee. I'm still just trying to figure out exactly what in the Pits is going on," he said.

Arcee sensed that whatever it was that he thought might be going on, weighed heavily on his mind. "I understand," she reassured him. "Just be careful and stay out of trouble, okay?"

He looked at her with amusement, happy to be changing topic. "Hey, me, careful? Nah. Unless my name's not Sideswipe." He replied in jest. Back when he was a part of the Autobot army, he had a reputation for pulling off all sorts of crazy and dangerous stunts, both on and off duty.

She shrugged. "Well, can't a femme show some concern for a mech? Especially a mech who happens to be one of her best friends."

He laughed warmly and sat back, holding her gaze. "You needn't worry about me, Arcee. I can take care of myself."

"I'm sure you can." She looked at him thoughtfully. "So, how are you finding life as a civilian?"

He shrugged. "It's okay, I guess. I do miss the action, though… and being away from all my friends for so long hasn't helped, either."

"Yeah, I know what you mean," she said, quietly reminiscing over her own experiences during the past few years. "Things are not like they used to be, that's for sure."

He nodded in agreement. "Yeah." Since Cybertron Command's restructuring after the end of the Last Great War against the Decepticons, many of the remaining Autobots had transferred to non-military stations. Some helped upgrade or rebuild the city, whilst others involved themselves in diplomatic missions on other worlds, or became involved in scientific or medical endeavors. They had built themselves a new life, hoping that the notion of war would eventually become just a fading memory, and the heavy burdens of loss and sadness that each still carried deep inside his spark would disappear into the shadows of a long forgotten past, even if for only a little while.

Essentially, the Autobot army had been reduced to nothing more than a shadow of its former glory. Even the Decepticons, once a mighty force to be reckoned with, were now seldom heard from. He wondered what had become of them… what would eventually become of them all.

"Sideswipe?" he heard the femme next to him saying, and realized that he must have become lost in his own thoughts.

"Oh," he said promptly, turning to look back at her. "Sorry. I was just thinking."

Arcee smiled reassuringly, and they both sat quietly together for a few moments. "I better get going," she finally said, and stood to leave. "If you change your mind, come find me, okay?" she added as an afterthought.

"I will," he replied, and smiled back at her. He waved goodbye as he watched her exit the bar, then sat back in his seat and slowly finished off the last of his energon.

* * *

During the later part of the day, the Maintenance and Repair Bay of Central Iacon was usually deserted, save for one or two medical officers and a few maintenance drones scattered about the place, and today was no exception. The busiest time usually occurred in the early hours, when duty shifts were just beginning and the residents and personnel from the Command Center would visit for their scheduled maintenance routines.

Now, within the main operating theater inside the med bay the overhead lights were dimmed, and in the middle of the large room stood two mechs bent over a repair berth. A single, bright green spotlight illuminated their work area from above. They were both silently engrossed in their work, their concentration focused and intense. Atop the berth lay an offlined mechanoid. His chest compartment was open as the two mechs worked on him, carefully sorting through various fuel lines and wiring assemblies with the utmost care and attention.

One of the mechs, a tall, red and white Autobot, stopped working for a few moments, stepped back slightly and straightened. He let out a heavy sigh and placed the precision instrument that he had been using down on the table next to him. Then he quickly glanced at the monitor screen that displayed the mech's life signs, satisfied. "I'll let you finish," he said, his voice gravelly and rough. "It sure ain't like it used to be around here," he then muttered in a low voice, shaking his head. The other mech nodded silently, but did not look away from his work.

Silence followed for a long while afterwards, as the mech who was now bent over the berth finished his work, and carefully put away his tools. Then, finally, he looked back. "What do you mean?"

"Eh?" Ratchet asked, lost in his own thoughts, and then realized what the other was referring to. "Ah. Nothing," he replied, but privately reminisced of times now past. "Just talking to myself, is all." His student looked at him quizzically, but did not question him further. "Not bad for a security officer. You're almost ready to perform that procedure on your own. You won't need me watching over you anymore."

"Well, I... I don't know about that. I mean, there's still so much I don't know," the other red and white, security-officer-turned-medic-in-training replied.

"Ah, you're doing just fine. You're too self-critical, you know that? You've gotta learn to trust yourself a bit more," Ratchet reassured him, then walked over to the patient. He looked down at the silent figure for a few kliks, and carefully set the berth controls to auto recharge cycle. "But I think you've done enough here for tonight. Go on, get some recharge yourself."

"Uh... sir?"

"Hmm?" Ratchet looked up at him, slightly puzzled. "What is it, Red? What's the matter?"

If Red Alert didn't know his mentor any better, he would have thought that the Chief Medical Officer sounded almost annoyed with him, impatient even. "Oh, nothing, sir, nothing's the matter," he quickly responded, not wanting to create unnecessary concern. When he didn't continue, Ratchet turned his attention fully upon him, and folded his arms across his chest, silently waiting for him to speak. Red Alert realized that he would seem rude if he did not explain himself now, so he cleared his vocalizer and gestured with his hand, in emphasis of his noncommittal attitude. "Well, it's just that, me and the other mechs... over at S and D... we – well, we got to talking... about some things that happened before the New Era..." He trailed off, uncertain. He was beginning to have second thoughts.

Ratchet did not reply straight away, but instead listened intently to the new apprentice, observing his every mannerism in his own quiet, intimidating way. He nodded slowly. "Yeah?"

It seemed safe enough to continue. "We thought that maybe – you could tell us a bit about it?" Red Alert seemed tense.

Was he really that difficult to approach? Ratchet wondered about himself. He laughed – a deep, resounding chuckle that few mechs rarely got to hear. It was common knowledge amongst the medical and science officers who worked around here that he did not laugh much, nor did he take jokes very well, especially during the working shifts. But those same officers weren't privy to his off duty activities, which he generally kept to himself and away from his role as the Chief of Staff. "Well, what exactly do you want to know?"

This response took Red Alert slightly by surprise, but he did a good job of covering it up, and quickly recomposed himself. "Ah, well," he pondered, deep in thought. "The Dark Plague, for example. A lot of mechs I've spoken to believe that it almost wiped out the entire Autobot army, shortly after the war ended. That you, along with another officer... I don't recall his name... managed to discover a cure just in time – yet, when I searched the archives I couldn't find any information on it. According to the public records, it's almost as if it never happened."

Ratchet nodded his head. The memory of those critical events suddenly came flooding back to him. "Wheeljack," he said simply, almost to himself.

Things sure weren't the same around here anymore, he thought dryly. Not since the New Era began, anyway. It was quieter now, more peaceful, since the last known Decepticon threat had been quenched and the Dark Plague had been brought under control. Gone were the days of endless emergency medical calls during the middle of the recharge cycle, of soldiers being dragged into his med bay with crashed processors and burned out power units, desperate and leaking energon, waiting to be saved from permanent deactivation as they fought valiantly against the chronometer for their very lives. And he had done everything he could to save them, no holds barred. It was his job, after all. Granted, he had saved many more lives during his long service than he had lost, and for that he was grateful. However, these days, well... it just seemed to him that he wasn't needed anymore, not as much as he used to be. There were no more injured from the war, because there was no more war. These days, med bay activity consisted mainly of scheduled maintenance and upgrades – all very safe and predictable. Which was a very good thing, he thought. But it meant that things just weren't the same for him. Perhaps, he should retire from service for a little while, hand med bay operations over to mechs like Red Alert and the others. They were certainly more than capable of taking care of things. He had taught them all they needed to know.

Red Alert looked puzzled. "Excuse me, sir?"

"Wheeljack," Ratchet repeated matter-of-factly. "The name of the other officer was Wheeljack. And yes, it happened, all right. It ain't something I'm going to forget too easily." Ratchet began to slowly move around the large room, making sure that all tools and data files had been neatly put away, and that all security systems were active. The two maintenance drones, which had been silently standing by, obediently returned to their wall recesses to power down for the night.

Red Alert followed him, ever curious and eager to know more. He couldn't believe that he had managed to get the Chief Medical Officer to even talk about this part of Cybertron's history – a part that was very much shrouded in mystery. He rarely ever spoke to Red Alert about anything other than repair work. "Then, why... what happened to the records?"

Ratchet continued to finish up his final tasks for the night, not bothering to look back at the new apprentice as he spoke. "How should I know? I'm a medical officer. I don't deal with the Archives." Ratchet sensed the other's uneasiness at his remark, and decided to give him a more appropriate answer. "Look, I don't know why it's not in the recorded archives. Maybe it's restricted to high level personnel only. But I was there at the time, and I know what happened first hand." Ratchet stopped what he had been doing for a moment, now curious. "Why the sudden interest, anyway?"

But Red Alert had been expecting that question, sooner or later. "Well, I was researching enhanced virus programs as part of security and prevention, when I came across some undesignated medical files, marked only with the codename and no authorization signature. So I asked around a bit but... well, nobody seems to know much about it, other than what I've already mentioned. I thought that maybe you might know something."

"Uh huh." Ratchet seemed satisfied with that answer, and Red Alert eased considerably. He walked to the exit, ready to set the outside door lock, and waited silently for Red to follow him out. "All I can tell you is that if it ain't in the public records, then it's probably something you don't want to be asking too much about – at least, not around any of the higher ranks." A pause, and then, "Then again, maybe you should."

Great, Red Alert thought sardonically, that was helpful. He watched the red and white mech seal the door closed and input the security code on the control panel. "Sir, you _are_ a high ranking officer," he said, stating the obvious.

Ratchet gave a slight nod, but did not give an immediate reply. He paused, taking his time observing his student. "Yeah, I guess I am. The Dark Plague was the codename for a virus. Highly effective, engineered to perfection... almost. Myself, and a few others, literally worked against the chronometer to find a cure for that damn thing. We were finally able to reverse its effects by using a high level Decepticon code, but not before a lot of damage had been caused, and many Autobots lost their lives."

Red Alert's optics glowed brighter as he took in this new, first-hand information. "So, did you find the Decepticons responsible?"

Ratchet's expression suddenly turned sour, and he grimaced. "Yeah, we found him, alright. He should have been terminated for what he did, but he pleaded not guilty during his trial and so, with some persuasion from Decepticon Command, the High Council decided to exile him instead." Then, after a pause, he added, "If he ever shows up here again, I'll terminate him myself,"

Red Alert could hardly believe what the Chief Medical Officer was telling him. "But, why isn't any of this in the Archives?"

"I don't know. All I know is that I'll never trust another Decepticon - not after something like that. I almost wish that damn war had never ended," Ratchet confessed, recalling the unpleasant events of the past and how, after a long and devastating war that had been fought between the Autobots and the Decepticons, it had all just suddenly, and inexplicably, come to an end - as if all that he and his friends had ever fought for, and all the Autobots who had so valiantly given their lives for the cause, now meant absolutely nothing. At least for him, it was a bitter pill to swallow. "A thousand more lives could have easily been extinguished in one recharge cycle because of that virus," he concluded.

His apprentice medic looked at him in awe and bewilderment. "So, who was the mech responsible?" He could not help but ask the inevitable question. If nothing else, he could make a note in his security files for future reference.

The senior officer looked back at him, his gaze steady. His optics seemed to be burning with some obscure, yet undeniable truth, and a past that was better left buried. "Afraid I can't tell you that. Direct orders." He shook his head exaggeratedly. A pause and then, "But he was a high ranking Decepticon, that's all I can tell you." Red Alert was fascinated, yet visibly disappointed that he wouldn't be able to learn the identity of the war criminal. After a long silence, Ratchet continued. "But that's nothing for you to be concerned about. Right now I'm depleted and I gotta get some recharge. I suggest you do the same."

Red Alert nodded. "Of course," he replied, as the Chief Medical Officer turned and began to head down the empty hallway. "Oh, and, thank you, sir," he called out after him. Ratchet did not give him a verbal response, but instead raised his hand in acknowledgement, waving goodbye for the night. Red Alert smiled to himself as he watched the red and white form slowly disappear around the corner. Then he finally turned around and headed off in the opposite direction.

* * *

Other than the typical background hum emanating from the central computer console, the quiet buzz from the personal energon processor over in the far corner, and the regular beeping from the security monitors, Optimus Prime's personal quarters were silent. Lights had been activated to maximum intensity, and the large view screen that normally looked out over Iacon's eastern suburbs had been set to display a live visual of Cybertronian space. Stars gently filtered through, while an occasional meteoroid or other space debris quietly drifted past, but other than that the view did not alter much at all. Such a view would generally be considered uneventful or uninteresting, boring even, to some, but to the Prime Commander, it was peaceful. It allowed him time to think, to ponder. It reminded him of the sheer magnitude of creation, of the universe, of everything that existed and co-existed within it. A stark reminder that Cybertron, and all the lives that depended upon it for survival, was but a mere speck of creation, a tiny, microscopic piece of the larger picture – the much, much larger picture. It was a humbling thought.

Indeed, he was the philosopher at heart as much as he was the scientist or the strategist, though he would seldom admit to it.

Optimus, seated at his desk, looked down at a list of data files. He had done this for Primus only knew how long; had served as the Autobot Commander for what seemed like eons. Yet, it seemed to him that every solar cycle – no matter how many times he had made critical command decisions or how many Great Wars he had lived through – would bring with it a new experience, a new challenge for him to conquer. And every day, he continued to learn from such experiences, to conquer such challenges, and to rise above them.

Despite all his accomplishments, and even as the most highly respected and experienced Prime ever to have commanded the Autobot army, there were some things that even he could not learn to live with, or come to fully accept.

The data files stared back at him relentlessly, demanding his attention, the Cybertronian symbols on the screen in front of him bright green against a dark backdrop. He activated the touch screen and scrolled down, slowly reading the messages, deliberately taking his time. Security reports, maintenance schedules, recruit lists... right now, all of that could wait. Then, the file he was interested in: an encrypted message from special ops, a field report.

Every time he had played back that file, he was not able to shake off the feeling that had come over him. Even now, as he contemplated listening to it one more time, the apprehension and unease threatened to return ever more strongly, and he feared that he may never be rid of it. He had listened to the recording several times today already, and each time it had only left him with more questions than he had answers.

He looked away from the screen, his optics drifting towards the communications panel. Green lights flickered silently, an indication that the com system was operating normally. He noted that the main channels were online, and that his own private line was currently on standby. Next to that was a direct line to Council Chambers, isolated and secure.

He leaned back in his chair and looked at the view of space; silent yet unforgiving, despite its magnificence. Many wars had been fought amongst those stars, as many battles won as had been lost. A battle ground that had been his greatest ally just as much as it had been his worst enemy. It took no sides, gave nothing of itself, and yet would take everything in return. Many lives had been claimed during those battles, soldiers sacrificed for the greater good, for the honor and freedom of their race...

Optimus looked back down at the file names, returning his thoughts once again to the present day. Then he reached towards the touch screen, almost without thinking, and activated the file. An authorization prompt was displayed, insurance against unwanted access from the optics and audios of mechs who should not be privy to its contents.

"Teletraan II: Access file, clearance code: zero, one, four, nine, zero, zero, four, command code: priority one alpha, voice authorization: Optimus Prime."

'Authorization: granted.' A few moments passed, and the prompt disappeared. Silence.

"Play transmission," Optimus stated. His tired voice indicated his low charge state due to a lack of proper rest. He would have to do something about that soon or he would be getting an audio-ful from his Chief Medical Officer during his next scheduled maintenance, something he would gladly avoid if he could.

'Playing transmission.' A pause, and then a beep.

_'Special ops team leader, First Lieutenant Jazz here, Cybertronian stellar date 143602.4.168.5. Reporting from XR-5's Mining Station, right in the heart of the Gamma Sector's Main Asteroid Belt. The team and I have just secured the perimeter... we've encountered no life signs so far, kinda expected something by now, though. Looks pretty empty, but... my spark chamber's telling me something's definitely not right around here...'_

Optimus listened to the recording in silence, not moving a micrometer. He thought that he could hear the uncertainty and agitation in Jazz's voice, and the more he listened to the transmission the more he felt certain that his first lieutenant was definitely sensing something ominous. Unfortunately, and as per usual, Jazz's feelings proved to be accurate. A long silence followed – the part of the transmission that was probably the most difficult for anyone to have to hear.

_'What in the... oh dear Primus... what in the... Pit happened... here? I... I think I'm gonna purge...'_

More silence, followed by the faint clatter of footsteps upon rocky ground. The sound of weapons being charged was then followed by the echo of distant voices, barely audible. Jazz giving orders, and acknowledgments from team members. Optimus recognized the familiar routine of a highly skilled special operations team.

_'...Fifty, sixty... maybe more... cybernetic life forms... or the remains of what were once filled with spark... appear to have been attacked... in the most malicious... Sixteen, uh... no, seventeen... seventeen of 'em are barely recognizable, torn apart... energon covering the walls... some of these poor slaggers hung from their main fuel lines, left to die here... two Autobots, slag –'_

Jazz's voice faltered audibly, as he relayed as best he could the sight before him without breaking. He continued, with difficulty.

_'Transmitting a visual... what in the slag pits happened here... who... or what... would have done this? I ain't seen anything like this before... not even during the Great Wars... not even a 'Con could do something like this...'_

Optimus quietly watched the visual as it came up on screen, still unmoving. He watched, and saw what Jazz and his team had seen first hand earlier that day. Devastation and slaughter, the chilling presence of death in every direction; but it was much more than that. It was much worse.

_'Tracker... round up the team, we're leaving. We'll call in the clean up crew... nothing more we can do here now…'_

Another slight pause and then, _'Jazz out.'_

Optimus ended the transmission, and turned off the visual. He took a moment to gather his thoughts. Who could have done something like that, indeed? Or, what? To attack a military outpost was one thing, but a mining station? What could anyone possibly hope to gain by murdering a group of helpless, unarmed miners? If it was precious deposits they had been after, why hadn't they just taken what they wanted and left? Why the carnage, the needless death and destruction? _Why?_ Two of those murdered had been Autobots, as Jazz had mentioned during the transmission. Mechs that Optimus recognized by name, had seen around the base, had even conversed with a few times.

If this was not a sure sign that a terrible menace was existent and operational at this very moment, then what was? How many more lives would have to be sacrificed before somebody put a stop to it? This was no coincidence, and it was definitely no 'accident,' as some had been quick to claim – it could not be. This was deliberate, malicious, and evil. Any fool could see that. And any good Commander would not wait for another incident like this one to occur, not if they could do something to prevent it. In fact, anything would be better than to just stand by and do nothing.

"Locate Jazz," Optimus ordered the Command Center's central computer network. A few moments passed, moments that felt like an eternity, until the computer finally responded.

'Jazz has been located in Private Quarters 02-401, Third Level.'

Good. That meant he was currently off duty. Optimus reached across to the communications panel, and activated his private line for a direct link to his first lieutenant. He waited a few kliks and then spoke. "Jazz."

A few more seconds went by, and then the familiar voice of the special ops agent came over the speaker. "Prime? What can I do for you?" His usual, friendly tone was a welcome sound, and Optimus felt instantly at ease.

"I was hoping we could talk."

"Uh, sure. Right now?" Jazz replied.

"Yes. If you can. I'm in my quarters," Optimus continued, but did not elaborate further.

"Sure, no problem." A pause and then, "I'm on my way."

"Thank you, Jazz," he said, and closed the link.

Optimus reminded himself that most mechs would be off duty by now, and probably resting. He knew that he should be doing the same, and started to have second thoughts about his request for the late night visit. This could wait till tomorrow... couldn't it?

After a few moments, Optimus stood up and made his way over to the view screen, which still showed a live visual of Cybertronian space. He pressed a button on the nearby control panel, and the view suddenly changed to the Iaconian skyline once again, stark and bright against the backdrop of a glittering, starry sky.

The streetscape below appeared mostly empty, save for the usual, quiet activity during this time, late into the recharge cycle. It looked like a safe and peaceful city. Yet Optimus, if he were to be truly honest, knew that it was far from it. For eons, he had fought for peace and order on Cybertron against the threat of the Decepticon regime. Unsatisfied with the status quo, the rebel Decepticon group had risen against the laws and order of the Council and, as a consequence, against the Autobots themselves, as their unofficial representatives. Then, the Council had finally put a stop to the war by offering the rebel group an ultimatum: either they accept a cease-fire and relinquish any control, or be destroyed. Megatron, the Decepticon leader, surprised everyone by accepting their terms, though to this day Optimus was troubled by the unexpected turn of events. Sure, the war ended, and that's what he had wanted all along - indeed, what the Autobots had wanted all along - but he knew that it was very unlike Megatron to back down from any fight, especially if it meant that his power or position on Cybertron would be weakened. Something else must have convinced him to acquiesce to the Council's demands, but as to exactly what that something else was, Optimus was at a complete loss to explain it. Every Decepticon he had queried since had remained tight-lipped, and Megatron himself never spoke of it afterwards. Furthermore, the Council had also wanted the Decepticons disbanded, but Megatron had managed to gather his remaining followers and hide out in an unknown part of Cybertron. After a short while, the search for them was abandoned. It was not until recently, when Autobots were found murdered or had started to disappear without a trace, and news of off-world trouble began to surface, that the Decepticons, bit by bit, reappeared once more. Many Autobots, including himself, had accused the small band of Decepticons of playing a part in the current misfortunes that had befallen them, perhaps even of being the masterminds behind the evil deeds, but their accusations could not be proven.

He must have lost track of time then, because he soon found himself jolted out of his thoughts by the sound of the door chime being activated. Ah, that must be Jazz. "Please, enter," he commanded, and the door slid automatically open. He turned around to face his visitor. "Thank you for coming at such short notice."

Jazz stood in the doorway for a few moments, observing his Commander intently beneath his trademark blue visor. Then he smiled warmly, and took a few steps inside. The door closed behind him. "You're welcome, Prime. Any time."

Optimus ushered him in and offered him a seat, which Jazz gladly took. "Would you like a drink?" he offered, indicating the energon dispenser in the corner. He went over to it without waiting for a response, and poured a container full.

"Ah, no thanks," Jazz said, politely declining the offer, then leaned back in the chair and watched Optimus take a few sips. "So, what did you want to talk to me about? I hope I'm not in any trouble," he joked.

Optimus smiled at him, the battle mask that he usually wore currently retracted, and shook his head. "No, not this time."

"Ah, well, that's good, 'cause I was starting to get a little worried, you know? You calling me in here in the middle of the recharge cycle. Ain't always a good sign," he replied. He paused, observing Optimus' demeanor more closely, and changed his tone. "Something up?"

Optimus did not respond straight away. Instead, he placed his energon container down next to the dispenser and paced slowly across the room in contemplation. His tall, blue and red frame projected a strong sense of leadership and authority. Jazz waited patiently for him to speak, not in any hurry. "Jazz, do you remember your first mission into Destron Space?"

"Hmm?" Jazz did not expect such a question, and he took a little time to think on it. "Uh... yeah, as a matter of fact, I do. It was many vorns ago, during the Great Devastation, as they call it. Can't say it turned out to be a great success or anything – quite the opposite. Why do you ask?"

Optimus turned back to face him. "I remember it clearly. I was the one who gave the intercept order."

Jazz stared back at him silently. Then he nodded slowly. "Yeah... yeah, I recall."

Optimus continued speaking, as if Jazz was hardly present. "Many soldiers were killed during that mission – good soldiers. They were killed because I hesitated to take that first move... because I gave the order too late. I could have prevented it, had I followed my own spark's guidance."

Jazz shook his head, unsure of where this conversation would lead to. "Optimus, that was a long time ago. And besides, you couldn't have known–"

"Ah, but I did know, Jazz." Optimus nodded slowly, recalling that time long ago, a time when he was barely experienced as a Prime Commander. "I did know. Even then, I knew."

Silence filled the quarters, and the two mechs were still, each quietly contemplating the other. Jazz was a highly skilled officer, and as reliable and trustworthy as any mech that Optimus had ever known. But Jazz was also as mysterious and unreadable as the optics he kept hidden underneath his visor.

"That's why I'm not going to allow it to happen all over again," Optimus finally spoke.

Jazz nodded, but said nothing. He thought it would be best to simply allow the Prime to say what he needed to say, in his own time. He had come here to listen, and that's exactly what he would do.

"You saw something on that Mining Station, didn't you, Jazz? Something you did not mention in your official report," Optimus continued. He was calm, composed, more curious than anything.

Jazz was about to reply, but then Optimus gestured for him to stop, indicating to his friend that he need not give him a reply – at least, not just yet. "Something's happening. You and I... feel it, sense it. I have felt it within my spark, within the Matrix that I carry, just as real as you sit before me now. Yet, I cannot say for sure what it is or where it comes from. I cannot fully fathom its presence anymore than I can fully fathom the very essence of the Chaos Bringer himself. Nevertheless, it is here among us."

Optimus paused for a few moments, and Jazz took the opportunity to respond. "You're right – there was something on that Station, something I can't explain. It wasn't anything that I could see, but it was there... I felt it," he admitted, his voice low, tense.

Optimus nodded in understanding and acknowledgment. "We must do all that we can to stop the Decepticons and those who sympathize with them before it's too late... before Cybertron itself becomes the next casualty. Our planet cannot survive another war."

The black and white mech listened intently to the Commander's words. He tilted his head slightly. "You so sure the Decepticons are behind all this?" he said slowly, deliberately.

"I've engaged them in battle more often than you have, Jazz. Believe me; I wouldn't be telling you this if I thought that they weren't involved somehow. But there's just been too many incidents, too many promises made only to be broken, so that they might return in full force, ready to claim Cybertron as their own once again," Optimus replied, anger surfacing as he spoke. "This time it is no different."

"Uh huh," Jazz acknowledged, considering his words carefully. "Well, if there's anything I can do to help..."

A pause, and then, "What I'm about to ask of you will place you in immediate danger, if you accept," the Commander said sombrely. "But there's no one else I can trust. However, I will fully understand if you refuse. No Autobot should be commanded to do this, and should you accept, you must do so willingly and without regret."

"Hey, that's my job; to do all the crazy things that no other Autobot in their right mind would dare to do," Jazz said in his usual, light-hearted way, and waited for his Commander to continue.

"Very well. I want you to 'defect' to the Decepticons," Prime said, his voice harsh in the stillness of his private quarters. "Gain their trust. Find out exactly what they're up to, and why." The first lieutenant nodded slowly, assimilating his new mission, but said nothing. "Oh, and… if possible, see if you can find out why the war ended. It may have some bearing to what's happening now."

"Alright," Jazz replied. "If that's what you want me to do. I'll be happy to."

Optimus gave him a nod of gratitude in return. "Thank you, Jazz. You have my full authorization to use whatever means necessary to succeed in your mission. Tell the other Autobots whatever story you wish, but your true mission is to remain classified, and off the record."

"I understand," Jazz replied, then with curiosity, "Is this a Council directive?"

"No," he replied simply. "This is strictly between the two of us." Jazz slowly leaned back in his seat, contemplating in silence for a few moments, and Optimus continued. "I know I don't need to tell you this, Jazz, but please be careful. I don't want to lose you." Jazz nodded silently in understanding, and Optimus turned towards the large view screen. "The first time I viewed your transmission from the XR-5 Mining Station, I thought I felt something, something that I had not felt since the New Era began... and the more times I listened to it, the more I became certain of what I now know to be true. What I've felt – and also what you have felt, sensed first hand, on that Mining Station – is a memory of which I have kept locked deep inside me for the longest time... a darkness that has plagued every atom of my being for the hidden knowledge of its existence. At first, I would convince myself that it wasn't real, that it was just part of a mental fragment borne from the darkest of our experiences... until, eventually, it became nothing more than a distant memory. But not anymore. Decepticons are no longer our only threat, Jazz. There is something much more sinister that sustains them; it gives them their strength, their drive... but the enemy that we once knew, is no longer the same enemy. We can no longer trust anyone but ourselves. And now we must learn the truth. Only then, can we know what we are truly facing. The Last Great War never ended last vorn, Jazz... it _began."_


	2. Chapter 2

"That was too easy," bragged Thrust, one of five Cybertronian jets, as he watched his companions discharge a succession of laser blasts at the bulkhead door panel that sealed the only access to the main power grid. They were inside a narrow service tunnel somewhere near the northern border of Alternity City's largest subterranean base.

"Getting past the perimeter was the easy part. There's probably a security team on its way right now to intercept us. We haven't got much time," Dirge, the team's leader, albeit a reluctant one, rebuked.

"Hey, are you gonna help us out here or are you just gonna stand there looking pretty?" Thrust snapped, rather annoyed. "Slag, this bulkhead won't budge!"

"C'mon, let me take a look," Bitstream, the data engineer, interrupted them. He had to shove Ramjet aside, the last of them to cease firing. "I'll bet there's an easier way to do this." As he stepped forward to examine the lock on the door, the other four fell silent. Dirge kept glancing back down the runway behind them, agitated. Only Acid Storm, the quietest of the five, appeared unfazed by their current situation. "Ah… ha," Bitstream finally said, then fell silent again.

"Ah ha? What 'ah ha'?" repeated Dirge, nervous.

Bitstream spoke methodically, carefully selecting his words. "Ah ha, an encryption code I've never seen before. Curious." The others waited for him to continue, but he simply stood there, silently running through a multitude of different algorithms in his cranial circuits in an attempt to find a hack that might work.

"But, can you break it? Like Dirge said, we don't have much time," Thrust reminded him, and aimed his missile launcher at the door, prepared to use brute force should the blue engineer fail with his softer approach.

Bitstream held out a hand. "Wait. I think I just... might... have it. Bingo!" he proclaimed triumphantly, but no sooner had he done so than a single laser shot rushed past him from seemingly out of nowhere, almost scorching one of his wing tips. The five jets jumped into action, immediately looking for cover and returning fire back down along the tunnel.

"I knew it!" Dirge called out, though his companions seemed unperturbed by the sudden assault. Several mechano-yards away, a team of security guards fired relentlessly upon them, periodically taking cover behind the shallow recesses formed by the various bulkheads that lined the tunnel walls. From what Dirge could determine, there were six mechs in all. "C'mon, let's find a way out of here," he called to the other jets, but they had other ideas.

"No, Dirge. We can take them," Acid Storm replied, as he fired a well-aimed torpedo into the enemy's midst. "Let's finish this." A small explosion sounded from the far end of the tunnel as the projectile met its intended target. The crackling of electrical energy and sparks followed, accompanied by muffled shouts of alarm.

Bitstream glanced towards the door, then back at the four jets. It was unlocked. "Cover me, guys. I'll only need a few kliks." Without waiting for a reply, he retracted his weapon and reached for the control panel. Pressing the green-backlit button, the heavy door slid open and he disappeared inside.

"Two down, four to go!" Ramjet boasted amidst more weapon fire. He lifted his right laser level to his shoulder and aimed it down the tunnel. There was a scurry of activity as the four security bots struggled to take cover from the sudden onslaught of their laser fire, as the other four jets joined Ramjet in his offensive.

"Piece of cake!" Thrust exclaimed, as another bot slammed against the bulkhead with a surge of electrical discharge. It was clear that the enemy security team was no match for their superior firepower; however, this was of little reassurance. It would only be a matter of time before an emergency request for back-up would trigger a security lockdown of the area, and if they were still here when that happened... well, they would be as good as slagged.

"Bitstream! Hurry the frag up!" Dirge yelled through the doorway, glancing towards his team mate.

Bitstream didn't look up. He seemed unperturbed by all the commotion going on outside in the tunnel. "Just... one... more... klik-" And then, no sooner had he spoken than a sudden, sector-wide power failure shrouded them all in darkness. The whining down of power units, followed by an eerie silence, was all that could be heard.

"Bitstream?" Dirge called again, switching on his night vision. The two remaining security bots down the tunnel had ceased firing, and had probably already retreated to alert their superior. Nevertheless, they were nowhere in sight.

"Yeah, hang on... working on it," the engineer mumbled as he worked against the clock to complete his task before the power systems rerouted and came back online. He determined that he only had about twenty seconds left. Dirge, followed by Ramjet, Acid Storm, and then Thrust, made their way into the control room after him.

"Bitstream?" Dirge repeated, unnerved. "Hurry up - we don't have much-"

"Yeah, I know, I know! Almost there." He stepped back from the console and turned towards the others. "Transmission in progress." As they watched, a small pin point of light flashed on and off on the console in front of them. Bitstream had inserted a control crystal into one of the empty terminal slots, and it was now infiltrating the data network with its electronic tentacles, searching for its target system. After a few moments it stopped flashing and emitted a solid green light. "Ok, let's get out of here before–" He didn't finish his sentence, as the lights flickered back to life and the computer terminals rebooted with a whir.

Dirge led the way out of the control room and back into the tunnel. "Ah, frag."

"What's the matter?" Thrust asked behind him, but as he stepped out into the hall with the others, his question was answered. He and his team mates became suddenly aware that they were completely surrounded by Base security. Several laser weapons were pointed directly at them.

"Disarm your weapons, and stay where you are," the leader of the security team commanded them.

The four jets looked to Dirge for guidance. For a moment it appeared as though he would surrender, but as he slowly began to retract his blaster, stealing a glance at his team mates behind him, he lunged forward and slammed against the leading security mech with the full force of his body weight. "Disarm _this_!" His anger had been roused, and his optics had changed color to a darker yellow. The security mech gave way easily, struggling against the weight of his opponent as they both impacted the ground.

Dirge's brash move was just the cue that Ramjet needed, and before the other security bots had time to react he was crashing through three of them at once, throwing them off their feet and driving them backwards into the bulkhead wall, head-first. At the same time his other team mates opened fire, and soon the tunnel was a frenzy of laser blasts once more, scorched by power surges as searing plasma came into contact with electrical conduit.

Each side took as much damage as they gave, and initially it looked as though the Cybertronians had the upper hand in the skirmish but the Base's security units proved to be more resourceful than they had first appeared; as one mech was knocked offline, another two readily took his place.

Thrust had taken a serious battering, and was fighting to stay online. His companions weren't looking much better as they collectively had their backs against the wall while they continued to defend themselves against the enemy. "Dirge!" Thrust called to his trine leader. "We gotta get out of here now. I can't..." He faltered, He faltered, his power distribution system fighting to stay online. "I’m not sure I'm gonna make it."

Ramjet was doing all he could to cover him, but it was a losing battle. Bitstream had also sustained damage to his front vent and was starting to leak coolant. His built-in fail-safe mechanism would keep him from over-heating, but if he didn't get the necessary repairs soon he would find himself entering preventative shut down mode. Dirge continued to discharge laser blasts into his opponents, but a feeling of panic and dread was slowly beginning to seep into his consciousness as he realized that although they had the superior weaponry, they were severely outnumbered. If he were to compute the likely outcome of this battle, it wouldn't be good.

"Bitstream, can you initiate another sector-wide power failure?"

Bitstream replied from close behind him, shaking his head at Dirge. "No. The backup systems have been rerouted; I won't be able to access them from here."

"Alright, then I guess we'll have to - ah!" Dirge began, but was cut off by a direct laser blast to his chest. He lost his balance and toppled backward into Bitstream, who managed to catch his fall. Dirge's shield armor was starting to lose its integrity. They couldn't take too much more of this.

Bitstream looked across at Thrust. The grey and red jet was on his knees, one arm outstretched in a feeble attempt to ward off mechs fast closing in around him.

The Base's security guards were beginning to retract their weapons, growing ever confident in their assured victory. The leader of the team continued to give out orders. "Arrest them!"

The realization that they had been defeated began to quickly dawn on the five, and they remained unmoving, resigned to the fact that they could no longer avoid their fate. They would probably be interrogated, and then terminated by whoever ran this underground militia. Their mission had not been entirely in vain, however; as far as Dirge understood, they _had_ successfully transmitted the encrypted message, and while it had been a high risk errand, it had also been an errand worthy of the Decepticon cause, and for this reason he would have no regrets, no matter what would befall them now.

It was on account of these very thoughts that Dirge did not register right away what happened next. It felt as though his cranial circuits were frozen; confused and defeated, he wasn't exactly in his best frame of mind to interpret what his senses were picking up. All around him darkness fell once again, and he wasn't completely certain that he hadn't gone into shut down mode. In fact, if it hadn't been for the sudden, powerful shock blast that had originated from somewhere further down the tunnel, he would have believed just that. A pinkish-white glow of plasma illuminated the area, and he witnessed it impacting the security mechs in front of him, taking several of them out in one blow. The leader had narrowly avoided its devastating blast, but as he turned around to try and get a lock on this new threat a second plasma bolt hit the front of his head full force and he fell backwards onto the floor. A blackened and charred cranial unit was all that remained of the unit leader's head, sparking and smoldering beside Dirge. The Cybertronian jets scrambled back towards the control room for some kind of shelter against this new, unknown danger, unsure whether they would be next in line for sudden obliteration. Acid Storm was attempting to drag Thrust back inside the room, and finally managed with Ramjet's help. Dirge and Bitstream followed them quickly inside.

"What in the Pits is going on?" Ramjet whispered loudly the same question that was on all of their minds, but none of them had an answer for him. Outside in the tunnel, more shock blasts were relentlessly being sent towards the Base guards, making short work of them.

"What happened to the power?" Dirge asked, but again no one had any answers. He was struggling to be heard above the commotion outside. He took a moment to think on their next move. "Is Thrust still online?" he asked, glancing towards Ramjet and Acid Storm.

"Yeah, I'm still here. Barely," Thrust answered, his voice almost too low for them to hear.

Dirge nodded reluctantly. "Bitstream?"

"Oh, yeah," Bitstream looked down at the damage he had sustained below his shoulder, and touched the leaking fluid with his hand. "I'll be alright."

"You better be, because we're getting out of here right now." Outside in the hall, the shock blasts had finally ceased. The area was still in darkness, and now the only sound that could be heard was the sizzling of burned-out circuitry. Focusing upon the scene with his night vision, Dirge carefully stepped out into the open tunnel and looked about. He had to deliberately avoid the piles of mech bodies that now lay strewn across the floor. They had all been terminated.

He looked down the tunnel in the same direction the shock blasts had come from, hoping to catch a glimpse of what - or who - had done this, but all he could see were the stark, metallic walls that made up the tunnel; no other life form was in sight. "Come on!" He motioned for the others to follow him, precariously began to make his way down the hall, and then quickly broke into a run.

He had no idea how, or why they had escaped, but he was surely glad for it in that moment and did not waste time trying to figure it out. All that mattered now was that they high tailed it out of there, and that is exactly what they did.

* * *

The main conference room inside the iconic Command Center suddenly became so still and quiet that one could almost hear a pin drop. Mixed reactions of low whisperings spread across the room; some were immediately happy with the announcement, whilst others were overwhelmed. It was not quite what the dozen or so senior- to mid-ranking Autobot officers who were gathered around the conference table had expected to hear since they had risen from their recharge cycle this morning. But, all in all, Optimus was satisfied with his team’s response.

"Would you care to repeat that, Prime? Just so I know I haven't gotten my wires crossed or something?" Hound said, excitement underlying his tone. It was a rhetorical question and one that he didn't really expect the Autobot Commander to answer.

"You heard him loud and clear, Hound; he just said we get to kick some Decepticon can - and it's just about darn time, too!" Ironhide replied, elated about the news.

Optimus raised a hand, indicating for them all to stop and listen to the rest of what he had to say before they started arriving at any definite conclusions. "No - that is not what I said, Ironhide... old friend." Once they had all quieted down again and he had regained their attention, he slowly lowered his hand. "Now, I know it's been hard on all of you, for what has seemed like millennia - and it's true; it has been hard, on all of us. But we can't go back to the way things were. We must look to the future - a peaceful future - and I cannot condone any more unnecessary violence, from any Autobot."

"Then how do you expect us to carry out these new orders? With all due respect, Prime, but the Decepticons aren't just gonna lay down their weapons and turn themselves in without a fight," Ironhide replied. Silverbolt, who was seated next to the senior artillery specialist, nodded in agreement.

"Of course not," Optimus replied, giving careful consideration to his answer. "Think of it as just a formality. We have the support of the Neutrals now. They have promised full co-operation in ensuring that our joint objectives are achieved as quickly, and efficiently, as possible." He paused, and noted some slight uneasiness amongst his crew. Jazz, who sat beside him, was the only one to offer little reaction; he simply observed the proceedings with the utmost calmness, as if unwilling to share his true sentiments. "The fact is that the Decepticons are scattered, and vastly outnumbered. They no longer hold the same power or influence they once had. All I'm asking you to do is to help the Alliance bring them in peacefully, one by one."

"Well I, for one, would be glad to see the end of them. Maybe now, if we can all start looking with hope toward the future, like Prime said," another mech spoke up, from the far side of the conference table. All optics glanced toward him as he continued. "Primus only knows what we went through. Lives needlessly destroyed because of them..." Ratchet trailed off, too filled with regret and sorrow to finish his sentence; but he felt that the others here understood, agreed with his sentiments.

"But what will happen to them?" Another mech spoke up, his voice inquisitive, directing his question back towards Optimus. "The Decepticons - I mean. What will happen to them once they've been brought into custody?"

Optimus looked into the optics of the fine warrior. Like many strong and proud Autobot soldiers before him, Hot Rod expressed the telltale spark and burning desire of a mech who sought to fulfill his life's purpose in dedicated service, fighting in the name of justice, honor, and freedom against all forms of oppression. Optimus clasped his hands together and leaned back in his seat. "I suspect that they will be given a fair hearing... possibly undergo some form of retraining, if they show promise, so that they may be reintegrated back into society as productive members of our race." He gave a small shrug. "But that would be mostly out of our hands, as the High Council will have the final say. Nonetheless, they have assured me that the matter will be handled with the utmost discretion, and consideration for their welfare, as well as for the safety of our own." As he finished speaking, a cacophony of voices broke out all at once, as they argued the pros and cons of this new directive amongst themselves.

Jazz observed his fellow Autobots with a mix of both curiosity and empathy; a group of passionate and skilled individuals, each with his own unique way of perceiving the world, and with his own story to tell... all gathered together in this one moment in time; not because of their differences, but because of their similarities. They were all here because they all shared a common goal, Jazz realized, a common vision that encompassed not only themselves, but all of Cybertron as well.

But would the inevitable end of the Decepticon regime mean the end of all conflict on Cybertron, and a return to a more peaceful way of life? There were so many questions that he couldn’t answer, questions that had been playing on Jazz's mind for quite some time. And what of the alliance between the High Council, the Neutrals and the Autobots - was it really about overseeing the safety and security of their home planet in an effort to maintain peace and order, just like it had been during the Golden Era? Or was there something else at play beneath the surface, something that was understood only by a select few? Of course, it was all just speculation at this point; nothing could be relied upon as absolute fact or certainty. Indeed, what this alliance had asked of him - and of all Cybertronians, for that matter - was to _trust_ it, fully and inexorably. Yet the one thing that Jazz had learned over the long vorns as a special operative, was that trust was something that was all too easily sought, yet very rarely earned - and for good reason. He thought back to what he had seen on that Mining Station, and then to his conversation with Optimus a few days earlier. His leader seemed convinced that the Decepticons had something to do with the mysterious incidents that had been occurring ever more frequently and, given the long and drawn out history of rivalry between their two factions, so did just about every other Autobot he had spoken to. Perhaps they were right. But before he could commit himself fully and agree to the complete disbandment of the Decepticons and all that they stood for and, most importantly, trust the alliance wholeheartedly and without reservation, he had to be sure, beyond all possible doubt, that what the Autobots were doing was _right._ And in order to do that, he thought, he would need to find some real answers.

"Prime?" Jazz glanced over at their leader, hoping to catch his attention for just a moment. "Prime, may I be excused?"

Optimus looked over and gave him an affirmative nod, wondering how his best special operations agent, who had not spoken a word during the entire meeting, would get around the Council's new directive in order to fulfill his mission. Then he realized he didn't really have anything to worry about; Jazz would probably find a way. He always did.

* * *

The Command Center in Central Iacon fulfilled an important function, and was integral to the smooth operation of the large data networks that connected the major provinces under the jurisdiction of the Cybertronian Empire. The largest of these provinces, and the most influential, was Iacon - the epicenter for all official military and diplomatic dealings alike - a vast and complex region divided up into three main sections; the outer Province, Central, and Sub-central. Then there were other provinces, such as Polyhex or Antihex, which were virtually off limits to the general populace; a range of precautionary measures had been put in place to ensure that non-military personnel did not venture within them. However, these provinces were not yet fully under the protection of the Empire; they were dangerous, known hotspots for organized crime and illegal activity. These provinces were also formerly Decepticon territories before they had been reclaimed, at least to a certain extent, with the ushering in of the New Era.

"Elita! Elita, wait up! Think about what you're doing before you regret it - Elita, please." Chromia's attempts at getting her friend to listen to reason were almost beyond hope. They'd just arrived home from their unfinished mission in the Delta Sector and Elita One, combat specialist and captain of the _Avenger_ , was now on a personal mission of her own. She strode straight into the Command Center and down along a main corridor, ignoring the surprised glances directed her way from the operators stationed at the checkpoints, or the security system warnings informing her to follow the correct procedures upon entering the area. She ignored them all, defiantly making her way towards a hallway to their left, her best friend trailing behind.

"I've had enough with following obscure orders for deca cycles at a time, Chrome, and being given the run around. Haven't you? To the Pit with it. What's the worst that could happen?" The pink and white colored femme gestured with both hands to emphasize her point, whilst waiting for Chromia to catch up to her. "I get demoted and the _Avenger_ gets decommissioned?" She shook her head incredulously. "Are you coming?"

Chromia joined her on the elevator platform, and they were transported up several levels. She shook her head. "No, I'll wait outside. The worst that could happen? We all get sent to some out-of-the-way military outpost where they won't have to worry about us for a little while - like deep within the Delta Sector, or worse - the Wastelands."

"That's not going to happen - _trust me_. Not after I'm done speaking with our dear Commander," Elita One affirmed confidently, as they stepped off the platform and crossed the hallway that led to a closed conference room. "I'll talk to you soon," she said, and input her security access code to open the doors.

Chromia sighed as she watched the doors give way with a swoosh, then slowly turned around and headed towards the main center of operations. She realized she hadn't checked in at headquarters for a long while and decided that now was as good a time as any, while she waited for her best friend to handle ‘official business', as Elita liked to refer to it. Briefly, she wondered if Elita would be all right, but then dismissed the thought - the leader class femme had faced far worse situations in the past, and could take care of herself just fine.

Lost in her own thoughts, she almost stepped into the path of a mech.

A cheerful voice greeted her happily, as the mech moved aside to avoid a minor collision with her. "Hey, Chrome, what's up? Haven't seen you around in quite a few... hope everything's all okay."

Not many mechs called her by her nick, Chrome, and she turned around to face him with a smile. "Oh, hello, Jazz. It's nice to see you, too. Everything's fine," she replied, faltering slightly. "Just the usual round trips out to the Delta Sector, nothing special. How about you?"

"Well, that's good to hear." Jazz paused slightly, glancing across the hall, and shrugged. "Prime's got me working on the missing bot cases... you know, see what I can find out."

"Oh, I see." Chromia nodded. "Well, I hope you find the Decepticons responsible. The rumors I've been hearing about them lately are just terrible, Jazz," she said, genuinely concerned.

"Ah, now don't you worry too much, you hear? We're going to get to the bottom of things, one way or another," Jazz replied, trying his best to sound reassuring.

"Elita's going to see if we can't get reassigned to the Gamma Sector," Chromia explained, after a moment of hesitation. "She thinks that's where all the action is - and you know her; if she isn't in the middle of it, she isn't happy."

An expression of genuine concern crossed Jazz's face as he heard this. "Huh. The Gamma Sector? Just got back from there myself... Elita's right about one thing; _something's_ happening out there. Not sure what, though it ain't someplace I'd be willing to head into again so soon - not without getting myself fitted with a cast iron manifold, as they say." It was Jazz's turn to hesitate, then, "Just... be careful, okay?"

The light blue femme looked at him curiously, though apprehensively, and a sobering thought suddenly entered her mind. Whatever danger Jazz was alluding to, it sounded quite serious, going by the tone of his voice alone, and if Elita One got her way they might not be sufficiently prepared for what they might find. "Sure, okay. I'll let Elita know."

"Alright, well, I've got a few things I gotta do," Jazz gestured down the hall towards the restricted area. "Give my regards to Elita and the rest of the crew."

Chromia nodded in acknowledgment, and gave him a little wave goodbye as he continued on his way. As she stood there reflecting on Jazz's timely words of warning, a feeling of uneasiness and foreboding swept over her.

* * *

As the sealed doors to the conference room slid open, Prowl instinctively rose from his seat ready to reprimand the latecomer, but when he realized who had just let herself in he sat back down again. This was Prime's business.

"Elita!" The Autobot leader, abruptly standing up and turning towards her, was just as surprised by her sudden entrance as Prowl had been, but for different reasons. He lowered his voice a little, realizing that they would be overheard. He pulled her aside. "Elita, what are you doing here? I thought you were out in the Delta Sector?" His voice was now barely above a whisper, but she didn't seem to care about that at all.

"We _were_ in the Delta Sector; but we decided to return home," she corrected him, hands on hips, glaring steadfastly at her life-long partner.

He waited for her to continue, but when she said nothing more he sighed and took a step back in resignation. With their meeting effectively over, the remaining mechs in the room silently understood that he needed to speak to Elita alone, and respectfully made their way out of the conference room without needing to be told. Prowl was the last to leave; hesitating for only a moment before receiving a knowing look from Prime, he closed the doors behind him.

Now that they were alone, Prime turned back to his partner and gestured for her to take a seat. She hesitated but then accepted his invitation, and he followed suit. He asked the beckoning question. "Why?"

" _Why?_ " she reiterated, mock bewilderment in her voice. "Oh, you mean, _why_ did we decide to return home?" She made a frustrated gesture as if she had given up trying to explain the basics of fluid dynamics to a stubborn young cadet. She shook her head. gazing directly at the Prime. "Permission to speak freely, _sir_."

"Come on, Elita, don't be like that. Did something happen out there?" When she gave him no response, he decided to just let her speak. "Alright, go ahead."

She seemed satisfied with that, and her optics dimmed slightly in contemplation. "Optimus," she began, her voice softening considerably, "we can't stand by any more and watch while our planet - our _home_ \- is threatened. I mean - do you have any idea how long it's been since we've actually done something _useful_? Since we've truly contributed something meaningful to our cause? Since... oh, I don't know - since we've felt like _Autobots_? All we've been doing these past few deca cycles is-"

"Elita-" Optimus stopped her before she became too distraught. Something was obviously bothering her a great deal, and he was trying hard to understand exactly what that was. "Elita - what are you talking about?" Genuinely perplexed, he tried to sound calm, reassuring, and she seemed to settle somewhat.

Elita sighed, took a few deep inhales. "What I'm trying to say is... I just, I want to be involved. I want to be _here_ , with you and the rest of the Autobots to help out in any way we can - maybe help find out what's been going on around here, you know? I've heard reports... some of our own have disappeared... or found _murdered_ , for Primus' sake!" She searched his optics for answers, but got none. "So, I'm requesting a new assignment."

Optimus was silent for a long moment. "Elita, you know I can't just-"

"Please, Optimus." Now it was her turn to interrupt him and plead her case. "Please, just speak to whomever you need to speak to, but get us reassigned. My crew needs this - _I_ need this."

Optimus looked away from her gaze, not sure what he could possibly say to comfort her. The truth was that there were protocols that had to be followed, rules that governed the kind of missions they could get involved in; rules that ensured order, and that maintained an efficient command structure so that peace and, ironically, freedom, could prevail on Cybertron. A sudden, unscheduled mission just wasn't something that he could grant her at a moment's notice. A reassignment like that could take weeks, sometimes even months, to be given approval. First, she would need to put in an official request. A decision would then need to be made; the intended objective would be weighed against current resources and the priorities of other existing missions. Her track record would be evaluated, and a final assessment would then determine whether she would be the best operative for the task. Then, if permission was granted, an official briefing would begin. That alone could then take another several weeks, depending on the mission's urgency. "Elita, do you have any idea what you're asking? Why can't you just carry out your current assignment to its completion? You've got, what - two, maybe three - months left on it? It's going to take that long just to get you reassigned. Besides, we don't need an extra team here right now. We've got all our bases covered," he explained, looking back at her.

A look of despair, and disappointment, crossed her face. "You've got all your bases covered? Are you so sure about that? From what I've heard, you're losing more good mechs every day and there's not a damn thing that either Autobot Command, or the Cybertronian High Council, are doing about it! And now, you're going to go after every _Decepticon_?" she emphasized, exasperated.

"How did you know about that?" Optimus asked her suspiciously.

"Come on, Optimus! I wasn't sparked yesterday. I do have _some_ connections within the chain of command. Or have you forgotten that I'm a senior officer as well?" She paused, gauging his reaction, but he was silent. She gave a sigh, and softened her voice a little. "Look, you barely even know what you're dealing with here. We're already way in over our heads in all of this. If it weren't for this new alliance with the Neutrals, I‘d honestly hate to think what might happen..." She trailed off, not wanting to speak of the possibilities of a losing scenario.

"Elita, you're overreacting."

She stared resolutely into his optics, as if her very essence were piercing deep into his spark. "Am I?"

* * *

A good starting place to look for answers, Jazz decided, was the Archives. These were located in the restricted access area of the Command Complex, and required a high security code to enter. Fortunately, as a senior officer and special ops agent he had the necessary authorization, and within just a few seconds he was inside. The room was essentially a large bank of data storage units containing historic records - some of them dating back to even before the first Wars began. The vast majority of information stored here, however, included completed maintenance schedules, medical records, field reports, and personnel files - much of it useless to his current quest.

Jazz stood in the center of the room and wondered where he should begin. Save for the constant background hum of the power cells, it was so still he could almost hear his own fuel pump churning. Exactly what he was looking for he wasn't too sure - all he knew was that whatever clue - however small - that might help him shed some light on the current goings on and, subsequently, on how he might best go about his latest endeavor, would be in here somewhere.

"Gotta start someplace," Jazz thought aloud, "and someplace's always better than no place." He walked over to the data bank nearest to his left, and began to scroll through the main category headings on the view screen. "Ah, here we go, history - Cybertron... stellar date... let's see..." He stopped, paused, and then hurriedly searched through the sub headings. When he found the dates he was interested in, he opened the corresponding data file and began to scan through it. "Hmm, let's see... ‘End of oppression due to civil unrest between the Autobot forces and the rogue group of militants...'" Jazz paused, his voice gradually reducing to a mumbled whisper as he continued reading. "'The final confrontation at Kaon against the resistance fighters resulted in an undisputed victory for the Autobot-Neutral Alliance and the reclaiming of complete authority for the new Cybertronian Empire, as agreed to by all parties, signed hereto, the new Governance Ruling Agreement of star date 143,501.'"

Jazz stopped reading, and then began another search for Governance Ruling Agreement in the Archives. He quickly found it, and as he began to read through its particulars, a feeling of unrest slowly grew within him; a feeling that he would find hard to shake.

* * *

Ratchet's thoughts had been distracted ever since the conference this morning. His fellow officers weren't helping matters; all they could talk about was how they were going to capture their first Decepticon and "re-educate" him into a new way of thinking. He saw no harm in their delving head-first into the excitement of their new directive, but being around their high-spirited scheming all day long made for a very tired and overwhelmed chief medical officer and so, several hours later, he retreated to the stillness and quiet of his quarters.

He looked around his sparsely furnished room - an antiquated med kit behind reinforced glass, a hollowed-out power core on display, a cranial unit stand - until his gaze rested upon a metallic trophy that hung unassumingly on the far wall. ‘ _Awarded to Autobot Chief Medical Officer Ratchet and Autobot Chief Engineer Wheeljack, for their joint contribution to the field of advanced nano-technology, stellar year: 143,493'_ it read in fine print on the bottom. Ratchet grimaced, almost undetectably, at the bittersweet memory it triggered. "Advanced nano-technology, huh," he read softly, vocalizing the words, then shook his head. Advanced multi-system virus, more like, he thought. And what good had the accolade done for the Autobots who had died? Nothing, he thought again with derision, and turned abruptly away from the painful memory. There was no time to wallow in regret now. The past was the past, and should be laid to rest, once and for all. Yet, as hard as he tried, he wasn't able to forget.

He reached over to his com unit from the desk where he was seated and dispatched a request for Red Alert to come and see him at his earliest convenience. It wasn't an urgent matter; whether he gave him the news today or tomorrow morning didn't really make much difference. He suspected, however, that the up-and-coming medical officer would, more than likely, want to be informed as soon as possible.

Ratchet did not need to wait too long to get a response.

"Sir?" A curious yet apprehensive voice interrupted the silence in his quarters.

"You got a klik? I wanted to talk to you about a few things."

"Ah, yeah, sure. I'll be right over?"

"Good," Ratchet answered in the affirmative, and severed the link. He sat back in his seat, data pad in hand, and looked over the particulars in the younger bot's personnel profile, privileged information that only a senior ranking Autobot like himself had access to. Yes; Red Alert's service history was exemplary. He was curious, intelligent, and a quick learner, even if slightly neurotic at times. Whilst his primary function had been security, especially during the Great Wars, he had now proved himself to be a fine medic as well. In fact, of all the recent recruits that had come and gone through the doors of his Repair Bay, he was the best.

The door chime lit up, and he pressed a button on the control panel in front of him. The door to his quarters slid open, and he gestured for the mech outside to enter.

"Red, take a seat," Ratchet offered him, and as his guest did so he switched off the data pad he had been holding and put it aside. He took a few moments to collect his thoughts, not in any particular hurry. "How do you think you're going?"

"I... uh," Red Alert began, but then hesitated, unsure how to respond.

"Try to be at ease. This isn't any formal hearing, you know," the senior medic replied after sensing the other's uneasiness.

"Oh, huh! Right, of course," Red Alert nodded, placing both hands on the armrests of his chair in an effort to calm himself. He had no idea what to expect, especially since Ratchet rarely, if ever, called lower ranking Autobots into his private quarters. Perhaps he was in some sort of trouble, or perhaps he would be asked to help deprogram and recycle another stack of primary neuro-control chips during his time off - either way, he was more than a little anxious to find out why Ratchet had requested to see him off duty.

"With your medical training, how do you think you're going?" the CMO clarified.

"Oh, right - yes - it's going... I'm-" Red Alert winced, rebuking himself silently for his awkward display of nervousness. He cleared his vocal unit and tried again. "I'm going fine, sir."

"Hm. That's good to hear." He sat back and watched the other bot for a long moment. "Now, let's see how much you've learned. Recall the last fuel pump flush operation you assisted? Tell me what you did wrong."

Red Alert looked back at Ratchet with concern on his face. "I, uh... fuel pump flush," he repeated quietly, then looked down in thought. Retrieving the details of that particular event from his memory banks, he searched for any errors that he may have made. He remembered the operation quite clearly and, as far as he was aware, he had done his job exceptionally well. He slowly shook his head. "I'm sorry, but I..."

"No?" Ratchet leaned forward across his desk, his optics staring expectantly at Red Alert. "Come on, think. What did you do to divert the main fuel line before the flush?"

"Uh." ‘Think, Red, think!’ the Autobot berated himself; he should know this. "Well, I helped prepare the intake unit and separated... separated the... the fuel line from the pump housing." He paused, wondering whether or not he was on the right track.

Ratchet nodded. "And?"

"And, uh..."

"And, what tool did you use to separate the line?"

That seemed obvious enough. "Oh, I used the adjustable release lever-"

"Stop right there," Ratchet cut in. Then he stood up, retrieved a small tool from the emergency kit that he carried within his forearm chassis compartment, and walked around to his student. "You mean this?" he said, holding up the small, metallic object. " _This_... is for emergency repairs. It is _not_ meant for a specialized procedure such as a fuel pump flush. You understand?" He set the tool down on the desk with a thump, and bent forwards to make his point.

Red Alert looked up in surprise, and slight disappointment. "Oh, yes - yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir." He paused in thought, and then spoke up again. "It's just that, well... you see, I thought... since you had been using it yourself for similar procedures, you know... I thought that it'd be alright to use it for the flush." He caught Ratchet's optics, and saw that they betrayed his thoughts, which seemed to be elsewhere entirely. The two observed one another in a moment of silence, and Red Alert found himself wishing he could read his mentor's thoughts.

Ratchet straightened, and then seemed to relax a little. "Uh huh." He picked up the tool, walked back to his seat, and slowly sat down again. "Let me tell you something, kid. Don't ever get sloppy on me, you hear? Unless it's an emergency, always use the right tool for the job. No excuses."

Red Alert cleared his vocal unit. "Yes, sir," he acknowledged without hesitation.

"Good," Ratchet continued. "Now, tell me why you were late for your duty cycle today."

Again, Red Alert was caught off guard. "Late? Oh." He hadn't even realized that his slight tardiness - what, half a breem, maybe? - had been noticed. "Uh, yes, sir." That was the best he could come up with, and silently berated himself again.

"Hm?"

"No, sir. I mean, I was... well, a bunch of us bots were talking in the rec room, and I... I guess I must have lost track of the time," Red Alert explained, feeling suddenly self-conscious.

"I see." Ratchet considered him for a few moments, and Red Alert thought that the CMO deliberately wanted to make him feel uneasy, for some reason. "And what were you talking about?"

"Oh, just the usual, you know... mech stuff. Nothing important, sir," Red glanced down at his hand, turning it over slowly and wondering where all this was going.

Finally, his superior spoke. "I'll bet. Make sure it doesn't happen again."

Slight relief. "Yes, sir."

Ratchet picked up the data pad and activated the small screen. He took his time bringing up the information he wanted, and then slid the unit across the desktop to Red Alert. "After all, it wouldn't be a good way to begin your new schedule." He motioned for the lower ranked Autobot to pick up the pad in front of him.

Red did as he was directed, began to scan down the display, and a look of confusion slowly crept across his face. "Sir, this... this isn't my duty table. It's yours." He looked up, unsure of what he was supposed to make of it.

Ratchet shrugged. "Nope, it's yours now. That's if you want it."

"I – I'm not following. Sir?"

"I've decided to take a break from the Repair Bay for a little while, and I need someone to fill in. You're the best I've got at the moment," Ratchet explained in a casual, no-nonsense tone, as if what he had just said was the most normal thing in the world.

"But-" Red Alert looked back down at the data pad, slowly shaking his head in bewilderment. "I can't just take over the Repair Bay, just like that! I mean, I haven't even finished my training yet," he began to protest.

"You know enough. And you're good." Ratchet paused, offering no further explanation. "Look, do you want it, or not?"

Red looked back up into the senior mech's optics, and again he saw an untold longing in them, a faraway look that he dared not query. As the news of his promotion began to dawn on him, he began to feel a sense of trepidation and excitement that was inevitably starting to build up within him. "Sure - I mean, yes! Yes." He nodded in understanding, determined to keep his eagerness under control. "Thank you, sir." He took a deep intake, optics brightening with the prospect.

Ratchet nodded in satisfaction and smiled briefly, for the first time that day. "Good. See me tomorrow morning at the usual time, and I'll give you the necessary authorization codes. Don't be late. In the meantime, I want you to read the full data file, get acquainted with your new responsibilities. You're dismissed."

"Yes, sir." Red Alert slowly stood up, still overwhelmed with the good news. He needed time to gather his thoughts, reorganize his schedule - he would definitely need to call Smokescreen and Bluestreak to cancel their off duty get-together they had planned for the later part of the day. They would be disappointed, but he could always make it up to them some other day. "Uh, sir?"

"Hm?"

"May I ask... why the time away?" Red's curiosity had finally got the better of him, and he quickly put the question out in the open before he could change his mind.

Ratchet looked up at his student and grimaced, was about to tell him that he was pushing his luck inquiring about things that were none of his concern, but then reconsidered. Maybe telling the younger bot wouldn't be such a bad thing, after all, and he saw no real harm in it. He sighed, and diverted his optics back to that imaginary, faraway place again. "I just need some time away from here, that's all. Don't worry, I'll be back sooner than you know it - you can count on that." He paused, and Red waited patiently, listening intently for anything more he would offer him. "The sooner all the trouble with the Decepticons is over and done with, the sooner things can get back to normal around here... but until then, I've decided to help out."

Red Alert contemplated this new information, and thought carefully about how he should word his next question. "Trouble with the _Decepticons_ , sir? Sounds... intriguing." He had a rough idea of what Ratchet might have been referring to, but it was based only upon rumors – what a bot had told another bot, who then had told him.

"Ah, that's right; you wouldn't know about it." Ratchet considered divulging some of the details of his new assignment, and wondered whether it should be going to the other mech's audio sensors at all. Rumors were prone to spread like an out-of-control oil blaze around the Command Center, especially when the lower ranking Autobots had anything to do with them. But, sooner or later, the information would get out, regardless; better that Red Alert got to hear about it directly from him now rather than from some convoluted rumor later on that was bound to cause more trouble than it was worth. "Senior officers have been requested to help round up the Decepticons and bring them in." Ratchet shrugged. "So, I volunteered."

Red Alert's optics became wider, and he was momentarily lost for words. "But I thought there weren't many of them left on Cybertron? Decepticons, I mean." He couldn't hide the excitement in his voice. That was the kind of action that every enlisted Autobot dreamed of being involved in, even the more experienced ones. Whilst he was no new recruit himself, it had been a very long time since he had been out on the front lines, engaged in battle alongside the other regulars, and he missed it just as much as any other Autobot officer might miss it.

"Well, even one Decepticon is one Decepticon too many," Ratchet answered, and offered him no further details on the matter. "Now, get out of my sight before I change my mind."

Red Alert had to make a concerted effort to snap himself out of his sudden fantasy about being out on the battle field helping his close-knit team of trusted companions subdue one of the enemy, and returned his attention back to his superior. "Yes, sir," he said and headed towards the door, which automatically slid open as he approached.

"Oh, and one more thing," Ratchet's gravelly voice trailed after him.

Red stopped and turned back expectantly. "Yes, sir?

"Stop with the "sir" already. From now on, call me Ratchet, agreed?"

The ex-security officer visibly relaxed and gave him a small smile. He nodded. "Sure thing, Ratchet," he said, and walked away.

* * *

Why, there was no better time to be a mini-bot, Brawn thought, trying to convince himself through his own self-talk, than right this orn. Well, even if he didn't believe it himself, he was sure that his fellow mini-bots would. But then, they'd probably believe anything he told them. "So, fellas, how about a visit to good ol' Macaddam's?"

He stood just outside the Command Center, having completed his duty cycle, and the hour was late. Four other mini-bots were clustered around him; Windcharger, Gears, Cliffjumper, and Bumblebee.

Bumblebee looked doubtful. "The Oil House? Optimus warned us not to go into that place, Brawn."

"Optimus said this, Optimus said that," Brawn mocked, altering the pitch of his vocal unit to match. "Look, I don't give a frag. I'm going. Besides, I've been dying to get me a bit of that fresh off-world oil, and you can't get that stuff anywhere else on Cybertron. Who's with me?"

Windcharger shrugged and nodded, Cliffjumper grinned, and Gears simply crossed his arms across his chest, a grim expression on his face.

"Great," Brawn acknowledged with a smile. "Let's go." He set off eastward toward the sub-level access way, and the three of them followed after him, leaving Bumblebee behind.

"Wait, guys!" the yellow mini-bot called out after them, waving for them to stop, but they had already disappeared around the corner. He could hear Brawn and Cliffjumper singing a tune together as they walked, in anticipation of their fun night out. Bumblebee sighed, looked around him. The night air was refreshing, cooling his intake system as it circulated around his power core. He had nowhere else to be right now. Ah, what the heck, he thought, and broke into a fast walk in an effort to catch up to the others.

As the five mini-bots approached the Oil House, a burly looking security bot greeted them at the entrance. He held out his hand and presented them with an input pad. "Good evening, Autobots. Please input your security codes."

The five of them looked at one another in confusion. This was highly unusual; in all the vorns that they had been coming to this place - from virtually the day of its relocation from Kaon right up until now - no House bouncer had ever requested their security codes. "Uh, hey, Strom, what's up?" Cliffjumper finally spoke up.

"Please input your security codes," Strom repeated. Then, pointing with one finger towards the display screen, "Right here."

"Alright, is this some sort of joke? Well, _ha ha_. Come on, let us in, we're thirsty already," Brawn said, stepping forward.

"Sorry, Brawn, I've got my orders. Input codes first, then I'll let you in," the bot insisted.

Windcharger was both annoyed and a little amused all at once, but more than that, he was curious. "Orders? Whose orders? Let me go speak to your boss. He can't say no to us."

Strom hesitated. "Well, that may be true, most of the time, but not this time. The instructions are very clear. I need your security codes or I get _my_ behind hauled into the trash compactor."

"Ok, ok, don't get your wires twisted." Windcharger shrugged, then leaned forward and input his security code. "Will you at least tell us what this is all about? Are we in trouble or something?"

Strom shook his head. "Nah. Nothing like that. There's a new rule come into effect here: no Decepticons allowed, period. I've got to keep a record of everyone that comes through here." He held out the pad to Brawn, who snatched it roughly and quickly input his code before passing it to Cliffjumper.

"No Decepticons?" Brawn questioned, a little uncertain. "But what about, you know, the... unspoken rule?" He was, of course, referring to Macaddam's long established 'no respect of faction, only credits' policy.

The bot replied, opening the doors to let them through as Bumblebee was the last of them to input his code after Gears. "It's been suspended." He took back the pad and said, "Thanks for coming. Enjoy your stay," before the doors closed behind them.

Windcharger spotted an empty table across the room over near the bar and headed towards it. As they all took their seats, a waitress bot hovered towards them holding an empty platter. "Welcome to Macaddam's," she chimed sweetly. "What'll it be, boys?"

"Do you have any of that exotic lubricant? You know, the one imported from Nebulos?" asked Brawn.

The waitress' optics lit up in recognition. "Nebu-oil. Our finest import and an excellent choice, sir. Coming right up." She turned to the others. "And what can I get you fellas?"

"I'll just have a regular medium-grade," Windcharger ordered.

"Make that two," Gears piped up.

"Okay. So that's two regulars-" the waitress repeated, but was interrupted by Cliffjumper, who stuck three fingers up.

"Three."

"Oh, okay, make that three regular servings of energon," she said, before turning to Bumblebee. "And how about you, sweetie?"

"Oh, uh, nothing for me, thanks," Bumblebee replied, embarrassed.

The waitress put on a mock show of disappointment. "Ohhh, are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm good, really," he said, smiling back at her.

"What's a matter with you, Bumblebee? Out of credits? Here, make that four, on me," Brawn offered, and gestured to the waitress to add to their order despite Bumblebee's apparent intention of sobriety.

"You really didn't have to do that," Bumblebee said, after the waitress had left to fill their order.

"If you're not drinking with us, Bumblebee, you'll make us all look bad," Brawn replied.

"Oh," Bee could think of nothing more to say to Brawn on the matter. He really didn't feel like a drink, but he thought it was probably best not to argue the point. "So, what do you think's going on with the Decepticons?" he asked the others, changing the topic.

Windcharger shrugged. "Who knows? I didn't get the memo."

Gears added, "Where there's Decepticons, there's always trouble rearing its pretty head." He then looked over at Cliffjumper, who was tracking a tall femme bot as she walked past them towards a table occupied by a rowdy group of mechs - presumably Autobots from a neighboring province. "Forget it, 'Jumper. She's out of your league."

"Hey, I wasn't-" Cliffjumper defended, startled by the comment, but then changed his mind. "Oh, ok, so maybe I was. So sue me," he said smugly, making his friends laugh.

Windcharger looked around the large public area of the Oil House. It was occupied mostly by Autobots, and most of them appeared to be having a great time. There was live musical entertainment in one corner, and the lighting had been dimmed to create a moody, surreal atmosphere.

The waitress returned with their drinks and quickly set the containers out on the table in front of them. "Enjoy your drinks, boys," she said again with a smile, and then left to take orders from a nearby table.

Brawn picked up his container and lifted it to his mouth. "Here's to us!" he said, then let the precious oil trickle down his throat.

The night wore on, and one round of drinks blended into another as the group of mini-bots lost track of time. It must have been well into the early hours of the morning, Bumblebee suddenly realized, checking his internal chronometer. "Oh, frag."

"What?" Cliffjumper said, slouching in his seat, container of energon in his hand.

"I'm on duty first thing in the morning. If I don't get some recharge now, I'm gonna get into trouble."

"Bumblebee," Brawn replied, and then paused as he considered what he was going to say; he was obviously too drunk to think straight. "Here, have another. It'll make you feel better."

Bumblebee frowned. Whilst he had indulged in two energon fills, that had been well over an hour ago. He was the only sober bot left among them. "No, thanks, Brawn. We really should-"

"Hey! Lemme... lemme tell you something. You wanna hear something? Who wants to hear something?" Brawn interrupted, waving around an empty canister in the air.

"Yeah, better be good," Windcharger replied, looking at Brawn with glazed optics. He looked as though he was going to throw up the contents of his fuel reservoir any moment now.

"Ok. Here goes." Brawn looked in turn at each mini-bot, making sure he had their full attention. Gears had been sitting almost motionless in the same spot for a good hour, and had not spoken much at all; Bumblebee was beginning to wonder whether he should notify the med bay, just in case. "Being a mini-bot... sucks metallic balls," he blurted out.

Windcharger laughed, and Cliffjumper almost spat out his mouthful of energon. "Beg your pardon?"

"You heard me," Brawn continued, answering Cliffjumper. "We mini-bots, we get shafted all the time." The others quieted down to hear what he had to say, too over-energized to bother responding, so they let him continue. "Come on, now think about it... when's the last time we got invited to one of Prime's closed conferences? Or got to share the same duty station alongside a regular Autobot? Well, lemme tell you; never. It's never happened."

Bumblebee thought about Brawn's point, and had to admit that there was _some_ truth to it; no mini-bot had ever had the privilege of participating in one of the senior conferences, even when lower ranking regulars did. But it wasn't always this way, he recalled; only since the start of the New Era. "Brawn, don't you think you're being a little over-dramatic? I mean, there's probably a very good reason-"

"Ha!" Brawn cut in. "Okay, lemme give you an example." He pointed his finger at the yellow bot, fighting to keep himself from toppling out of his chair in his intoxicated state. "You, Bumblebee. Recall the time when there was a fuel shortage, and Prime had allocated all the available fuel cells according to a priority system by rank?"

"Well, sure, I remember that. But that was-"

"Do you remember what priority he gave to us mini-bots?"

Bumblebee answered, speaking softly. "Yeah, five."

"That's right," Brawn said loudly, almost shouting. "Priority _five_. The lowest priority available to any Autobot. Even the new recruits got a higher priority than we did."

Cliffjumper nodded. "Yeah, that's right." Brawn now pointed a finger at him.

"And you, Cliff. Remember when you got yourself lost in the Badlands?" Cliffjumper nodded. "Well, when you sent out a distress signal... guess how long it took Prowl and his team of Angels to respond?"

The red mini-bot shrugged. "Soon as they picked it up, I thought."

"Wrong! It took them two days, Cliff. Two whole days to rescue you. Bet you didn't know that, huh?" Cliffjumper shook his head slowly, assimilating this new information. He remembered that incident as if it had happened only yesterday and had assumed, all this time, that his rescue had simply been delayed due to the strong signal interference in the location where he'd been found.

Brawn turned to Windcharger. "And you," he continued, "you don't really believe that claptrap about being allowed to team up with the Aerialbots on their next assignment, do you?"

Windcharger stared at Brawn, his easy-going demeanor dissolving. He didn't like where this was going. "How do you mean? Prime himself reassured me that he'd put in an official recommendation, and-"

"Ha! Come on, 'Charger, don't be so naïve." Brawn had his full attention now, and he spoke more slowly, wanting to emphasize his point. "An official recommendation is nothing more than an official recommendation. Prime can't offer you a spot with the Aerialbots any more than he can promise to find the fabled Lost Key to Vector Sigma."

Windcharger put down the empty container he had been holding and thought about Brawn's words for a moment before responding. "Oh, yeah? Well, what would you know, anyway?"

"What's your point, Brawn?" Bumblebee interjected, and silence fell upon them as they all awaited Brawn's response.

"The point is that in _their_ optics, _we_..." Brawn indicated with his finger in a sweeping circle around the table, pointing to each of them in turn, "are not their equals. Why, we're nothing more than a plain old nuisance to them; worthless mini-bots." He laughed suddenly, a loud, sardonic laugh. "And you know what the funny thing is? I'll tell you. The only reason they still allow us to take part in any half-decent mission, is because half the original Autobots are either absent, missing, or unavailable."

Bumblebee shook his head. "I say you're wrong, Brawn. I mean, there's probably a good explanation for all those things, anyway."

Brawn looked at the yellow bot for a few long seconds, and then fixed his gaze upon the others. Finally, he leaned back in his chair and stared down into his empty drink canister. "Eh, have it your way, then. Just don't come crying to me when you find you've been ousted out on your behind because some new recruit's taken your place."

Silence followed, as each mini-bot contemplated Brawn's confronting point of view. There were mixed feelings about the matter all round, yet none of them were to speak any further on the subject. They were all in need of a good recharge cycle as it was.

"Come on, guys. We've been here long enough," Bumblebee said and, without waiting for the others, got up from his seat and left the Oil House.


	3. Chapter 3

Elita One stood on the command deck of her cruiser, looking out towards the darkened front view screen. In the quietness that surrounded her she hesitated momentarily, and then carefully pressed a button on the console in front of her. “Record message,” she stated. “Elita One: Senior Recon Specialist, Autobot Co-Commander, and Captain of the war cruiser _Avenger_. Cybertronian stellar date: 143602.4.182.”

Pause. Sigh.

“Delete message. Recommence recording… Optimus, I hope you’ll forgive me. I hope that in time, you’ll come to see that…”

Frustration, then another pause. “I’ve been giving this a lot of thought, since last we spoke. It was so good to see you again, Optimus… you’ve no idea how much I’ve missed you.” Pause. “But, I couldn’t help but notice that… well, the Autobots just aren’t the same anymore. They’ve lost their spark. Oh, it’s nothing obvious or anything. What I mean is… they – _we’ve_ – forgotten our dreams. Do you remember, Optimus, before the Great War, when we would walk the halls together, and we could hear laughter? And do you remember the promise we’d made one another? ‘Protect Cybertron from all harm, no matter the cost. No matter what it takes.’

Pause. “Well, look at us now. If you’re honest with yourself, you’d see that things aren’t the way they’re supposed to be. Where is the great and noble Autobot army now, fighting for justice and truth? Most of us are… we’ve all but forgotten why we were sparked in the first place. I mean – we’re Autobots, for Primus’ sake! We don’t take orders from anyone – let alone from… from a bunch of elitists who don’t give a damn about us. If you’re honest with yourself, you’ll see that what I’m saying is true.”

Another pause, and then a deep intake. “So I’ve decided to depart for Alternity City. I’m not sure when I’ll return. Please, please… don’t try to stop me. I don’t want to disobey you, but I can’t just stand by anymore and do nothing while more Autobots die.

“I know you don’t agree, but I’ve got to do what I feel is right. I trust that, some day, you will understand, and forgive me.”

Pause.

“Forever yours, Elita.” 

* * *

Groove, so fascinated by the Crystal Gardens to his right – surrounded by a low lying embankment, just south of Iacon – that he did not notice, at first, the quiet footfalls that seemed to be following him from a distance. To his left was the outer reaches of a sprawling industrial area; isolated groups of factory blocks visible upon the flat expanse, dotting the landscape as far back as the optics could see. Startled by the sound, he stopped in his tracks and slowly turned around to see if there was anyone there, but all he could see were the silent shadows. It was dark, and mostly quiet, as he walked along the familiar back streets, and he thought that he must be imagining things. No one else would be around here at this time of night, he assured himself.

Returning from an errand for Hound, the Protectobot had been on his way back to Autobot headquarters when he had decided to take a small detour along the way, as he sometimes did. He wasn’t like the others; he preferred the company of a quiet, starry night sitting amongst the crystal formations, dreaming about what it would be like to spend his days visiting exotic worlds like Archa Nine, or even Earth, rather than a wild night out with the ‘bots, getting up to no good.

He shrugged to himself, and continued along the metallic road that shimmered coldly in the dusky light.

The sounds resumed behind him, only louder this time. He quickened his pace considerably and initialized his photon pistol. Just in case, he thought, as he gripped the gun tightly in his right hand.

“Hey, Autobot!” he heard from behind him, and Groove halted to a sudden stop. The sound of the footfalls also stopped.

Turning around quickly, he held his weapon out in front of him, and that’s when he saw them. A group of three mechs, unfamiliar to him – Neutrals, he realized, obvious from their white armour and the golden, gleaming symbol of their faction emblazoned upon their chests. He lowered his pistol. “Who, me?” he called back to them.

He heard laughter, almost mocking, but he wasn’t sure. The tallest of them responded, his voice deep and resounding. “Yeah, you. Hey, why don’t you put that weapon away? We’re not gonna hurt you, you know.”

Groove looked down at his weapon, and deactivated it. “Oh, you mean this? Sure, no problem. Sorry about that,” he said, putting the pistol back into its compartment. “I thought you were – well…” he started, embarrassed.

The three Neutrals approached, walking casually up to him. Groove couldn’t help but notice that they were _large_ , all three of them towering above him. Were all Neutrals this big? He’d never noticed before.

“You thought we were... what?” the middle mech prodded, “’Cons?” He laughed, and the other two followed suit.

Groove chuckled nervously. “Heh, yeah…’Cons. Not in this neck of the woods.” As he spoke, the other two mechs walked around either side of him and looked him up and down, as if they were appraising some sort of rare and valuable prize.

Then one of them turned to his comrades. “Almost wish he were a ‘Con,” he remarked, off-handed.

Groove looked at them, perplexed, and began to feel like he had picked the wrong place, and the wrong time, to be out and about. “Look, I… I gotta get going. I’ll catch you later–” But as he started to step away, a large hand rested firmly upon his shoulder. He jerked instinctively.

“Come now, we’ve only just met. You haven’t even told us your name,” one of them said from behind him, and Groove realized it was the same one that had his hand upon him.

_Play this cool… just, play it cool._ “Uh… Groove,” he replied, feigning confidence. “And… yours?”

Again, laughter, almost mocking. The largest spoke again as he stooped closer, his face up against Groove’s. “We don’t have names,” he replied, vocalizing the words slowly, and then grinned, eliciting more laughter from his companions.

“Hey, quiet!” one of them interjected, and the largest mech looked up towards the other two.

“What is it?” he shot back, his voice a low growl.

“I thought I heard something.”

The three of them fell deadly quiet, looking about them with weapons raised, listening and waiting. Several long moments passed. Finally, the large mech dismissed the alert as a false alarm. “It’s probably nothing.” He turned his attention back to the Autobot. “It’s not wise for any mech to be out all alone. Any of us would be forgiven for making the simple mistake of thinking that you were a ‘Con.”

Groove’s internal warning systems were on high alert as he tried to think of a way out of his current predicament. He still wasn’t entirely sure what they had in mind for him, though he guessed that it probably wasn’t good. “You can’t touch me… I’m… I’m an Autobot. We’re supposed to be…” His throat caught, and he decided that it might be better if he remained silent. Should he plead with them? Beg? He didn’t know. He found himself wishing that his gestalt members were here now.

“Aw, don’t worry… this’ll be over before you know it!” The large Neutral reached forward and grabbed Groove’s arms, whilst his two companions pointed their weapons at his head.

A hateful sneer appeared on the Neutral’s face and, in a moment of unrealized terror that would become his main torment for many stellar cycles to come, Groove came to know, first-hand, an unbearable, yet unfathomable, evil which now hid behind the cold and calculating optics of his aggressor.

Even as his body was torn to shreds, it was his spark that screamed out in a desperate plea for help, before he was mercifully off-lined.

*

A safe distance away, Scavenger realized that he had just become the only witness to the cruel and callous attack of an Autobot. He had watched, and heard, the entire incident, wide-eyed and frozen to the spot since the violent attack had begun, and unable to move, like one of the great stone sculptures that could be found within the famed Crystal Gardens nearby. Even after he watched the three Neutrals as they dragged the off-lined bot away, out of sight, he waited a good, long while before stepping out from behind the low-set factory wall that he had used as a cover.

Scavenger knew that, being a Decepticon, he was already taking an extreme risk being so close to Autobot headquarters. Furthermore, he also reasoned that, being a Decepticon, there was nothing that he could have done to help Groove anyway, even if he had wanted to.

But his fellow Decepticons needed him; they were short on crucial minerals as it was, and over several months he had ventured ever closer to Iacon in an increased effort to retrieve any discarded, yet useful, materials to take back to base. With resources running so low, the Decepticons had to make do with whatever they could find, and this often meant risking their very lives just to survive. It was a difficult time, though he couldn’t remember a time when it hadn’t been.

Still, Scavenger never complained, and this had worked mostly in his favour. He never asked for more than his fair share of anything, and always did what was required of him, regardless of how difficult, or how dangerous, the task that was assigned to him.

Which was why he was here now; he had been searching for discarded scraps outside of an Autobot recycling facility when the incident had occurred. At first, upon hearing the commotion, he thought that it was just another rowdy group of Alliance mechs, walking back to their quarters after a wasteful night over-energizing and consorting with any femme who was willing, and lonely, enough to give them the attention they sought – if they were lucky to find one. But as the awkward confrontation soon turned into a brutal attack, he knew that what he had just witnessed was something far more serious than he had at first anticipated.

He stood, unmoving, for a long moment, the Cybertronian night sky above twinkling with stars, and wondered what he should do. He thought that it would be best, and probably safest, for him to just forget that he had witnessed the whole thing; just head straight back to Polyhex, get as far away from Iacon as possible before anyone saw him. However, his curious nature got the better of him, as it always did. If he could just follow those Neutrals, maybe find out where they had taken the Autobot and what they had done with him, then his curiosity would be satisfied. Plus, that kind of information might even prove valuable to Scrapper and the others; maybe even Megatron would approve.

Even as he debated with himself, he was already beginning to make his way to the road. He would only get a little closer – just enough to see whether those Neutrals had left any trace of their existence. Of course, he would need to be very quick about it, and he would need to make doubly sure that no one saw him.

As he approached the road with as little noise as he could manage, he saw that the three Neutrals were long gone, and so, too, probably, was the Autobot. He stopped at the road’s edge, peering down along the winding track, and was about to give the whole idea a miss when he spotted a small object lying on the opposite pavement. He hesitated a moment, checked the area for any signs of life, and then stepped out onto the road and headed towards the object.

He carefully bent low and picked it up, then reached across to examine the fresh residue on the metallic surface of the pavement. It was smeared in long, thin tracks that followed the road into the distance. A trail of evidence – mech fluid, from the victim’s inert body as it had been dragged away by the attackers.

Scavenger stood up slowly, and then followed the trail as far as it would go. He hadn’t travelled more than ten or so mechano-meters when it abruptly ended. He looked about him, wondering what he might find, then quickly transformed into his excavator alt mode and set his power shovel’s search filter to detect Autobot signatures.

Not more than a few minutes later, his detector alerted him to a positive signal, and he transformed himself back into robot mode. He found the discarded body a few steps away to his left, lying next to an access port that led down into the underground network of tunnels. The hatch to the access port had been left slightly ajar. The sight of Groove – or what was left of him – made Scavenger step back in repulsion, and a pang of regret rushed through his circuitry. He disliked Autobots in general, it was true, but _this_ he could never wish on anyone.

The Autobot had had his throat crushed, severed fuel lines protruding from the deep gashes that ran down along the front of his chest and back. It looked as though he had been passed through a shredder, his internal circuitry and cabling ripped inside-out and left hanging loosely, his body still being drained of its vital energon. His facial plates had been smashed, and one optic was crushed; the other had darkened to an ominous black. A fixed expression of terror, a mouth gaping open in a silent scream; a stark reminder of the Autobot’s last moments online.

Scavenger dared not touch the body for fear of leaving any imprints; instead, he took a few moments to gather enough courage and then bent down for a closer inspection. The first thing he noticed was that Groove was missing several internal parts, though they had left his personality circuit and spark chamber intact.

Why any Neutral would do this to an Autobot was well beyond him. Scavenger imagined how much worse off a Decepticon might have been in the same situation, if that were even possible, and he shuddered at the thought. None of this made any sense to him at all, though he did realize that if Groove were to undergo immediate emergency repairs, there _may_ be a slight chance that he could be saved. Unfortunately for Groove, however, he was powerless to do anything to help him. If the Autobots found out he was here he would be captured, charged with serious assault, and held in their custody for an indefinite period of time. And he simply could not afford to take that risk. 

* * *

_One hour earlier…_

Optimus slammed a fist down upon the console, a little harder than he had intended. Prowl looked up from his post, slight concern for his leader. “Prime?”

The large red and blue mech sighed in resignation and grasped the console with both hands. “I’m sorry, Prowl.” Then he straightened and deactivated his private com link. “It’s Elita,” he explained reluctantly.

Prowl gave him a knowing look, nodded respectfully, and then turned his attention back towards his monitor read-outs. The night duty cycle was almost over, yet the Chief of Security showed no signs of slowing down. “If there’s anything I can do to help…”

“No.” Optimus shook his head. “Thank you,” he added. Prowl silently acknowledged him, continued analysing security data.

Optimus began to slowly pace the large control room. Something was obviously bothering him and, after a few minutes, Hound, seated at his post, felt he should say something in order to try and alleviate his Commander’s concerns, or at least take his mind off his troubles. “Uh, Prime?”

Optimus stopped pacing, turned towards their chief tracker. “What is it, Hound?”

“Oh, I’ve been meaning to tell you, there was a minor malfunction in one of the control systems at a scrap metal plant nearby just south of here,” he reported casually, glancing at his view screen.

This seemed to draw some interest from the Commander. “Is it suspicious?”

“Uhh… there’s been no report of any suspicious activity, no. Still, you never know, I guess,” Hound concluded.

“Hmm,” the Autobot leader pondered. “That’s not the first incident we’ve had in that part of Iacon recently.” He turned his attention to the security chief. “Prowl, how many incidents have been reported in that area over the last month or two?”

Prowl hit a few buttons, and analysed the fresh data that appeared on his view screen. “Four, over the last two months. Two of them involved Decepticon sightings near some recycling facilities.”

Optimus considered this information. “Was anything taken?”

Prowl glanced at the report. “No, nothing was reported missing,” he stated matter-of-factly.

Ironhide, having heard the conversation from his post at the rear of the control room, offered his opinion. “I’ll bet those Decepti-creeps are running real low on energon right about now. Why, they’re probably desperate enough, and dumb enough, to go snooping around our scrap yard in search of whatever beryllium nuggets and half-empty canisters they can get their hands on.” He chuckled derisively with the thought, amused by it.

Hound glanced back over his shoulder towards the red artillery specialist. “You’re so outdated, Ironhide. The last time they were called ‘Decepti-creeps’ was probably when you were still fresh in the Academy, getting beat up by the seniors.” Hound couldn’t help but grin in amusement at Ironhide’s expense.

“Ah, shut yer trap, Hound,” Ironhide rebuked. “What would you know, anyways? You probably spent most of your time gathering magic crystals out along the Hydrax Plateau instead of attending class like ya were supposed to.”

This elicited a few chuckles from a number of Autobots in the adjacent communications center as they overheard the exchange. It couldn’t be helped; Ironhide’s vocal unit seemed to have its volume control set constantly to high.

“All right Hound,” Optimus said, steering the conversation back onto its original track, unamused by their jibes. “Send someone down to check the nature of the malfunction, and see if immediate repairs can be made.”

“No problem, Prime,” Hound replied, a smile of amusement still on his face, and checked through the list of available Autobots who were currently on duty. He found the mech he wanted, and flicked a switch on his console. “Groove, can you spare a few minutes? I’ve got an errand for you.”

As Hound relayed to Groove the details of his task, Optimus turned to Prowl again. “Prowl, I’d like you to go down to South Iacon as well, and set up a telemetric perimeter.”

Prowl looked up from his console, a data pad in hand. “That’s no problem, Prime. I’ll get right onto it just as soon as this cycle ends.”

Prime gave him a curt nod, satisfied. “Good. The next time the Decepticons attempt to enter our industrial complex, we’ll catch them red-handed, and bring them in.”

“Understood.” Prowl smiled at the thought, looking forward to apprehending his first Decepticon. 

* * *

Within the secure walls of Alternity City’s subterranean base war room, Astro stood in the far corner, patiently awaiting the High Commander’s arrival. He was a powerful mech, despite his rather unassuming appearance, and could just as easily hold his own in any combat situation against a leader class mech. The base’s second in command, a warrior who called himself Jhiaxus, was also present, as was Jhiaxus’ assistant, Rook, and the de facto leader of the Neutrals and former Autobot Commander, Sentinel Prime.

The four of them stood gathered around a central table, awaiting the Supreme one. The table’s sleek, rectangular top was formed from a blend of the cybernetic planet’s native core rock, and a metal alloy mined off-world. At the head of the table, closest to the entrance, was a large, empty chair.

The small gathering did not need to wait long as the High Commander entered the room, his beastly form flanked by two guards. He took the empty seat, and the four took their own seats after him, as was customary. His gaze surveyed the room until it came to rest upon the former Autobot leader. “Sentinel, it pleases me that you are here at such short notice.” There was a pause, and the room was silent as the mechs all waited for the Commander to continue. “But, before we get into other matters, there is a minor problem of security that needs addressing.” The Commander’s voice rumbled low, its edge raspy and threatening. He looked towards the mech seated opposite him across the table. “Astro, report.”

Astro delivered his report without delay. “My liege, the northern perimeter was breached shortly after the fourth hour by five Cybertronian mechanoids of unknown identification. They were able to momentarily de-active the primary power grid before being intercepted by our security teams… however, they managed to escape.” His yellow optics looked steadfastly toward the High Commander, his face expressionless. While not as large, or imposing, as his superior, he nevertheless exuded a strong and quiet confidence that was difficult to penetrate. Not even the Commander’s sudden stirring of restrained anger could shake his self-assurance.

“Escaped? How were they allowed to escape?” The red orbs of the Commander’s optic sensors glowed in irritation.

Rook interjected to answer. “My liege, the surveillance equipment seems to have disengaged during the power outage. We have no information regarding the purpose of their intrusion. Two of our security teams were destroyed during the confrontation; however the incident is still under investigation and we are doing everything possible to find–”

“Enough!” The Commander growled. “Increase surveillance along the entire perimeter. If _any_ mechanoid comes anywhere near the perimeter again, I want him arrested and brought to me. Is that well understood?”

“Yes, my liege,” Rook responded, not wanting to aggravate the Commander any more than necessary.

“As for those Cybertronian intruders,” the High Commander continued, pondering his next instruction, “find them, and destroy them.”

“Yes, my liege,” Rook repeated.

Before the Commander could continue, Astro spoke up. “Allow me to assist in the search… with your permission, of course, my liege.” The Commander turned to him, apprehensive. The sudden request was, indeed, unusual for Astro. “I have an intimate knowledge of Cybertronian flight capability, and understand their weakness more than any of you here,” he explained.

“Hmph.” The Commander nodded slowly. “Very well.” He looked towards Rook with a nod of his head. “He will assist you.”

Rook glanced uncertainly at Astro, who returned his gaze with his usual quiet confidence, then looked back towards the Commander and bowed his head. “Yes, my liege.”

The room fell silent as the High Commander now turned his thoughts towards other matters. He looked across at Sentinel, who was seated at his right. “Sentinel. Have more supplies been secured?”

The red and black Prime nodded. “Right on schedule, Commander.” Sentinel’s physical size and matched that of the High Commander’s, though was not as menacing, and the arsenal of personal weapons he carried was nothing short of impressive. “The second shipment has arrived and awaits your inspection.”

“Ahh, very good.” A quiet pause, as the great mechanoid considered the current state of his growing regime. “Have you anything else to report?”

Sentinel leaned forward slightly, his voice slowed in emphasis. “There have been some new developments, from Cybertron.”

This piqued the High Commander's interest and, it seemed, his anger as well. "Cybertron?" Sentinel nodded, and the Commander released a low growl.

A smug expression appeared on the Prime’s face. “It appears that the Cybertronian High Council has considered our request. The Alliance has orders to capture every Decepticon in the Gamma Sector. They are now essentially wanted outlaws.”

Sentinel looked around the room, observing each mech’s reaction to this news. Jhiaxus, silent since the meeting began, listened intently; Sentinel had guessed that he would be most pleased with such news, and this now showed. It was well known amongst the elites that Jhiaxus despised Autobots and Decepticons alike, as did the High Commander himself; they both harboured a deep hatred for the two factions, each for their own reasons.

Astro’s thoughts on the matter were virtually unreadable. Sentinel knew little about the mech, though he did suspect his Cybertronian origins. Rook, however, was the most uncomfortable amongst them, and this was plainly obvious. He seemed agitated by the news, though he tried to conceal his feelings on the matter; it was no secret to them that Rook was a former Decepticon.

“In fact,” Sentinel continued, “the Neutrals have been granted delegation of authority.” His gaze slowly returned to the leader mech as he spoke these words.

The news satisfied the High Commander, just as Sentinel had also predicted. “I see. You have done well, Sentinel. You may yet earn my trust.” He paused, and then clasped his hands together in contemplation. “And what of the Commander of the Decepticons? Has he made an appearance?”

Sentinel shrugged slowly, a look of irreverence upon his face. “He has yet to take a stand… however; I do suspect that he is incapable of any persuasive action, given his limited resources and scattered troops. In my opinion, he is of no threat to anyone.”

The High Commander nodded slowly in agreement, a wicked grin spreading broadly across his beast-like countenance. “Then, with the Decepticons being taken care of, and the Autobots under our control, Cybertron will finally be _mine._ ” What sounded like a muffled gurgle emanated from somewhere deep down inside his evil core.

As Sentinel and Jhiaxus gleefully collaborated in the takeover of their home world under the High Commander’s direction, Astro quietly observed them with what appeared to be a calm indifference that could have fooled Primus himself. He had noticed Rook’s continued uneasiness from the moment the word _Decepticon_ had been uttered, and wondered what had motivated him to abandon his former allegiance in favour of a ruthless dictator, all those stellar cycles ago. He still recalled the day that Rook was first introduced into their ranks, under Jhiaxus’ wing, all too eager to make a good first impression.

As Astro contemplated these matters, the subject of the meeting suddenly took a different turn.

“On the subject of Autobots, my liege, I have brought a gift. Consider it a token of my appreciation of our friendship,” Sentinel was saying, and waved towards the guards that stood by the entrance. They disappeared, and quiet descended upon the room as they all anticipated the arrival of Sentinel’s ‘gift’. After a short while, the guards returned with a mech in their custody, and presented him before the Commander.

He was a tall, yellow-colored Autobot, although his outer armour was dull and in a state of general disrepair. It looked as though he had been to the Pit and back several times and, from the looks of him, had taken a few extra beatings to boot. He was in restraints, gagged and unable to speak, though his optics conveyed a look of stubbornness and defiance.

The Commander looked him up and down, relishing the sight before him. “Hmmm.” He turned to Sentinel. “How much does he know?”

“He refuses to speak, my liege. He has proven to be a stubborn one, even under some… gentle persuasion. He was discovered snooping around our relay station.”

The High Commander leered at the Autobot prisoner, already anticipating the delight that would be had with his new toy. He stood up to take a closer look at him, and the Autobot instinctively turned his head away in disgust as he struggled to break free from the guards’ strong grip upon him, but to no avail.

Extending one large arm towards the Autobot’s face, revealing clawed fingers, the tyrant slowly ran the razor sharp tips gently down one cheek, caressing it mockingly. “He already knows too much.” The bulky, menacing form of the Commander would have terrified even the most street-hardened mechanoid.

Sentinel shrugged. “Then I would suggest his termination.”

The Commander nodded, his gaze remaining steadfast upon the Autobot. “Perhaps.” He growled a low, ominous growl, and tilted his head, analysing his victim. Then he stepped back and dismissed the guards. “Take him to my chambers. I will deal with him later.” The guards immediately did as they were told and exited the room with the Autobot prisoner in tow.

The Commander turned back towards the mechs seated around the table, studying each of them carefully in turn. “There is one other matter that needs to be dealt with. Jhiaxus has it brought to my attention that there may be a traitor amidst our ranks.” He stated this slowly, threateningly, his voice seething with mistrust and unspoken accusations. “This traitor is to be found, and brought to me at once.”

Jhiaxus’ face contorted in glee at the thought of the dissenter’s fate at the hands of his High Commander, as his eagerness got the better of him. “That pleasure would be all mine, liege.”

Astro remained expressionless as his cybernetic cranial unit computed all probable scenarios and outcomes with lightning speed. The answer made itself clear: returning to Cybertron, sooner rather than later, was his only course of action.

* * *

Prowl did not expect the turn of events that were very soon to play out, shortly after he’d set out for Iacon’s south with his trio of mechs. He had decided to bring Smokescreen along with him for this task, as well as Streetwise, and Tailgate, mostly because they happened to be the first three mechs he could find, available at short notice.

It was a typically quiet night, and during the nineteenth hour he did not expect to see anyone about. All the factory workers would have returned to their recharging blocks several hours ago, leaving the industrial suburb all but deserted.

It didn’t take long for them to reach their destination – an out-of-the-way spot beside the Crystal Gardens where he planned to set up their first telemetric point. Prowl handed Smokescreen and Streetwise a small case each. “Smokescreen, set up the second point, then report back to me.” He turned to Streetwise, and gave him similar orders. “Streetwise, you’re responsible for the third point.”

The two Autobots nodded. “Yes, sir!” Smokescreen replied emphatically in mock salute, and grinned, before he and Streetwise set off to go their separate ways. Prowl watched them go, and then turned to Tailgate.

“What about me?” the smaller bot said, looking up at Prowl.

“You can help me here,” Prowl replied, then said no more as he started setting up his equipment.

“Oh, ok, sure!”

Ever since Prowl had asked him to accompany them here, the mini bot had become nervous and excitable. His over-eagerness to please had immediately irritated Prowl, though the Chief of Security had said nothing of it. Instead, he had tried his best to tolerate Tailgate’s peculiar behaviour and simply get on with the job.

After several minutes absorbed in his task, Prowl stood up from his crouching position. “Tailgate, would you pass me the-” he said, but stopped short when he turned around and realized that Tailgate was nowhere to be seen. “Tailgate?” He sighed, and folded his arms across his chest. He opened his com link. “Tailgate, report to me at once.” The line crackled, but there was no response. “Tailgate,” Prowl repeated impatiently, “do you read me?” Still no response. He was about to give up, when a distant voice came over his speaker.

“Prowl… sir… you better come quick… it’s… it’s G- G-” Tailgate’s unsteady, stuttering voice was unnerving, and Prowl couldn’t tell whether it was due to the mini-bot’s general nervousness, or whether it was because of something else entirely.

“Tailgate, hold your position.” He locked onto the com signal, and isolated Tailgate’s location. A couple of mechano-meters due south-east; he would be there within a few minutes.

Having secured into place the first telemetric point, Prowl started on his way, and opened another com channel. “Smokescreen, have you set up the equipment?”

“Uhh… yes, sir, I’m just about all done here.”

“Good. I may need your assistance; make your way to Tailgate’s location as soon as you can.”

“Sure thing,” Smokescreen replied over the link, and disconnected it. Prowl then relayed similar instructions to Streetwise.

After a short while, the three of them met up again. They could see Tailgate further ahead just in front of them. He appeared to be kneeling down next to an access port, hunched over as if he were about to purge, though they couldn’t tell for sure as his face was turned away from them.

“Tailgate?” Smokescreen called out, and started to step forward to get a better look but Prowl stopped him, a strong hand grasping his shoulder.

“Wait,” Prowl instructed, and looked around apprehensively. “Something’s wrong.” He looked at Smokescreen and Streetwise. “Wait here,” he said, and before either of them had a chance to respond, Prowl ran ahead towards Tailgate, his pellet gun drawn and ready. “Tailgate,” he called out gently, almost whispering, as he came up behind the mech, then stopped short suddenly, his control circuits feeling as if they might momentarily lose critical integrity. He walked around and knelt slowly beside Tailgate, who was muttering indecipherably and looking as if he might be on the verge of a mental breakdown.

“Who… who would… d- do this… who… who would… do this…” Tailgate struggled to talk, repeating the same words over and over.

Prowl reached out, placed a comforting hand on Tailgate’s shoulder. He slowly stood up and turned back towards the other two Autobots, but they had already approached and were now staring, horrified, at the scene before them. Streetwise, in particular, did not take it well at all.

_Streetwise…_ Prowl realized, but before he could do anything about it, it was already too late.

Transforming into his car mode, cannon mounted on his roof, the Autobot interceptor sped across the expanse in a southerly direction, heading towards the nearby road in hot pursuit of the perpetrator before anyone could stop him.

But Prowl didn’t have time to worry about Streetwise right now. He had to ensure that Groove was taken to Autobot headquarters as soon as possible, if there was still a chance that he could be saved.

He activated his com link once again, switched it to visual. “This is an emergency. I repeat: this is an emergency. I have an Autobot in need of immediate medical attention. His situation is critical.” Prowl paused, and waited for acknowledgment from the other end that his message had been received.

“Prowl, this is Optimus. I’ve sent Ironhide to your location, he’ll be there soon.”

Prowl breathed a quiet sigh of relief. He hadn’t expected Prime himself to take his call, but he was grateful for it nonetheless. Groove would be in good hands very soon. “Streetwise is already in pursuit. I’d like to apprehend whoever did this and bring him in,” Prowl reported, keeping the Prime informed, before closing the link.

Remaining close to Tailgate, Prowl and Smokescreen watched over Groove as they waited for Ironhide to arrive.

It wasn’t too long before they heard the red van approaching from a good distance away, the screech of his wheels echoing down the neighbouring embankment as he raced against the clock. Prowl grabbed Tailgate by the shoulders and managed to get him back on his feet just as Ironhide slammed on his breaks, stopping short in front of them in his alt mode. His doors opened, and Prowl bent down to lift Groove’s body, carefully supporting the head and shoulders. He waited for Tailgate to lift him from the waist and legs, so that the two of them could move him into the waiting van, but Tailgate hesitated, still gripped with shock and confusion.

“Tailgate, help me lift him,” Prowl said, but Tailgate’s reaction was too slow so Smokescreen, quickly stepping in, helped Prowl lift Groove upwards and into the van’s interior until the Protectobot was safely on board. Prowl then steered Tailgate inside after him, and slammed the van doors closed. Waving Ironhide off, the red van revved his motor unit and took off back to Iacon with no time to spare.

Prowl opened a new link, waited for the other end to respond.

“This is Red Alert.”

Prowl took a few moments before informing the Acting CMO of the incident. “Prowl here. Red, standby; Ironhide is on his way to you. He has an Autobot casualty in critical condition.” A pause, and then, “Prepare for emergency procedures.”

The voice on the other end replied. “Standing by. What is the nature of the emergency?”

“Multiple injuries… several missing internal components… victim unresponsive.” Prowl’s link momentarily went silent, but then came back online. “Red? You’d best just see for yourself. Prowl out.” He disconnected the com.

Groove’s life was out of his hands; all that could be done now was find those responsible, arrest them, and take them into custody for questioning.

Of course, if it was a Decepticon they were chasing, as it would most likely be, the questioning would be rather brief. Prowl was fairly certain that the prisoner would be suitably punished for his crime, before he was handed over to the High Council. He did not know what might happen to him from then onwards, nor did he care; all that mattered to him was that justice was served.

Prowl looked across at Smokescreen, then transformed into his vehicle mode. “Come on; let’s go find whoever did this. We can’t let them get away,” he instructed, and they both followed Streetwise’s signal to its location, which was only a short distance away.

By the time they had caught up with him, the interceptor had already secured his target. He was transformed back into his robot mode, and his photon pistol was pointed directly in front of him. And there, within the gloom of the surrounding shadows, was their Decepticon assailant, his back against a wall, laser pistol drawn in front of him.

Streetwise burned with an intense rage, threatened to annihilate the enemy right then and there. “Come on, you good-for-nothing _slagger_!” he called out, seething with rage. Streetwise very rarely showed this side of himself, but in this particular situation it was more than understandable. Groove was like a brother to him, and a member of the same gestalt team; despite their differences, he had sworn to always look out for him.

It was only Prowl’s voice, pleading with him to back down, that saved the Decepticon from suffering the torment that the interceptor had in mind for him.

Smokescreen approached the enraged Protectobot, and gently pulled him away. “Come on, let Prowl and I handle this. There’s nothing more you can do.”

Streetwise brushed him aside, his weapon gripped tightly in his hands. “Oh yeah, well… how about, I can _tear his optic sensors right out!_ ” he replied, loudly enough so that the Decepticon could hear him clearly. “How about we start with that, huh?”

“Cool it, Streetwise,” Prowl said, and stepped out in front of him. He turned his attention towards the Decepticon. “Scavenger, you’re under arrest. Come with us willingly, and we won’t be forced to deactivate you,” Prowl informed him, his voice calm and in control.

Scavenger didn’t respond straight away. He was looking frantically about for a way of escape. Confronted by three Autobots who had him cornered, however, he knew that trying to flee would not be his best option.

Prowl repeated his demands, and gave him one last warning, before finally Scavenger spoke. “I haven’t done anything… let me go.”

“ _Slagger!_ ” Streetwise snapped back at him. “You’re a _liar!_ You’re gonna pay for what you’ve done, you piece of scrap!”

Prowl moved closer towards their captive. “If you’re found innocent, then the charges will be dropped against you. In the meantime, however, you must come with us. Now, deactivate your weapon and hold your hands out in front of you.”

Scavenger watched as the three Autobots began to move in closer, all of their weapons pointed towards him, and he realized, then, that he didn’t stand a chance against them. All he could think to do now was to try and reason with them. “What charges?”

“Deactivate your weapon, and hold your hands out in front of you,” Prowl repeated, ignoring his question.

They were almost upon him now, just an arm’s length away. Scavenger saw no other option but to deactivate his weapon and retract it, then he slowly lifted his arms out in front of him. An energy restraint was placed around both his wrists, and then he was being forced to his knees.

The three Autobots retracted their weapons, and Streetwise stood in front of him. A look of smug satisfaction was written across his face, and he looked down upon the Decepticon as if he were nothing but scrap.

Scavenger looked towards the ground, trying to avert his optics, but felt his head being forced upwards roughly by his chin. He realized it was Streetwise, who was bending down towards him. “Why’d you do it, you worthless piece of slag?” The Protectobot’s voice seemed to be calmer now, slightly more composed than it had been only moments ago, though it belied his true sentiments. “What’s the matter with you, can’t answer a simple question, _Decepticon_?” Streetwise continued. Scavenger remained silent, but this only seemed to encourage the interceptor even more. His optics blazed with vengeance, and in a moment of rage he raised his right fist, and slammed it down hard into the side of Scavenger’s facial plate. The Decepticon was knocked to the ground with the force of the blow.

Prowl instinctively stepped forward to stop the confrontation, but Smokescreen held him back. “Let him do what he needs to do,” he persuaded gently, giving him a look that conveyed much more than any words spoken. Prowl hesitated, then conceded with some reservation before slowly stepping away.

Streetwise bent over the Decepticon, and picked him up roughly by his shoulders. His face guard was cracked, and his visor dimmed slightly before it steadied again. “Come on, if you can give it, you can also take it!” Streetwise taunted, and then a powerful left hook sent Scavenger toppling to the ground once again.

Scavenger knew that it was pointless to resist, or to insist upon his innocence, as it would only get the Autobot riled up even more. He couldn’t really blame him, in a way; having just found his team member’s torn and lifeless body lying abandoned somewhere out on the streets – trying to fathom the unbearable torment he must have suffered at the hands of his aggressor – it was only natural that the first thing on Streetwise’s mind was to take his revenge out upon the assumed suspect – particularly when it happened to be a Decepticon.

So he stopped trying to resist and gave in, taking another blow, and then another, and then another, amidst taunts and insults, and accusations, until Prowl finally put a stop to it.

“All right, Streetwise. I think that’s enough for now. Let’s get him back to headquarters,” he said, then relayed a message over his com link informing Optimus Prime that they had captured their first Decepticon.

* * *

The main control center panel beeped, the red emergency light alerting the crew back at Autobot headquarters. Normally, Prowl would have responded to the incoming call, but the security officer had left his post at the end of the duty cycle a short while ago to set up the telemetric points in south Iacon, as Optimus had requested of him.

The Autobot leader, still in the control room, didn’t think twice to answer it. He pressed the button, and Prowl’s image appeared on the view screen. “This is an emergency. I repeat: this is an emergency. I have an Autobot in need of immediate medical attention. His situation is critical.”

Optimus took immediate action, as protocol demanded of him. The only available emergency vehicle he could despatch at such short notice was Ironhide, who had since left to recharge for the night. He didn’t like to disturb the officers off duty, but an emergency such as this was always the exception to the rule. He looked over to the mech who now occupied Hound’s usual post. “Bluestreak, tell Ironhide to respond to the emergency without delay.”

Bluestreak operated the controls with lightning speed. “Right away, Optimus!” he responded, almost before his Commander had finished conveying the instruction.

The Autobot leader turned back to the main screen. “Prowl, this is Optimus. I’ve sent Ironhide to your location, he’ll be there soon.” He could see the obvious relief on Prowl’s face.

“Streetwise is already in pursuit. I’d like to apprehend whoever did this and bring him in,” Prowl added, and then closed the link without awaiting a response.

Optimus switched off the visual feed, then turned around and walked out of the control room without saying another word. Bluestreak watched the Prime go as fearful uncertainty, and curiosity, threatened to overwhelm him.

Optimus was not in the best of moods, and the sudden emergency call did not help matters. Elita One had been on his mind since he had received her recorded message earlier that day; he had tried to locate her in an attempt to talk some reason into her, but she had blocked her signature with a priority one authorization code. Later, he had tried to trace her on her private com channel, but she had refused to respond, which left him with no other choice but to take further steps to stop her unauthorised departure.

If he couldn’t stop her from leaving, then the least he could do was prevent her from taking her crew with her.

He located the femme commander’s first officer with his internal tracking system, and steadfastly made his way through a labyrinth of hallways and elevators until he finally reached the ground floor of the Command Center and entered the senior officer’s off duty lounge. Startled mechs looked up from what they had been doing and straightened respectfully as the Prime walked in, ready to take orders if called upon. But the Prime’s expression and general mood spoke of irritation and impatience. “Chromia?” He directed his gaze at the blue femme seated in the far corner. She had been discussing the details of her team’s last mission with Moonracer, another member of the all-femme crew, and looked up in expectation as she heard her name being called.

“Sir?”

“May I have a word with you?” he asked, and then added as an afterthought, “Please?”

“Of course,” she replied politely, glanced momentarily at Moonracer, then stood up and walked over to him.

“In private,” Optimus said. He turned around and walked out of the room, not waiting for her response.

Chromia looked over at Moonracer once again, who gave her a perplexed expression, and slight concern, before she followed Optimus outside. “Yes, sir.”

Optimus led her into a side corridor and, satisfied that no one was within hearing range, turned to face her. “Chromia, do you know of Elita One’s whereabouts?” he asked bluntly.

“Uh… no,” Chromia answered slowly. “We’re scheduled to depart in five hours. She said she’d be in contact with me before then.” She paused, waited for Optimus to tell her what this was all about. He looked deep in thought, troubled. “Optimus, is there something wrong?”

The red and blue mech stiffened, and his voice took on a more authoritative tone. “Elita One intends to depart for Alternity City without prior approval. If she continues on her current course of action, she will be disobeying direct orders. Are you aware of this?”

Chromia’s expression changed to one of mild shock, and then concern. “I… I didn’t know that she was…” she started. “No, I didn’t.” Then added as an afterthought, “Though… knowing her, it’s not surprising.”

“Chromia,” Optimus continued, subdued anger now threatening to surface. “Do you have any idea what this could mean for her, or your crew?”

Chromia knew full well the implications of disobeying direct orders, but was at a loss to know how she might avert such a situation. “Of course.”

“As Commander of the Autobots, it is my responsibility to warn you that if you choose to aid her in any way…” He trailed off, as he considered how best to put this to her. But he didn’t have to finish his sentence.

Chromia nodded reassuringly. “Yes, sir. Of course.” Then added, “I’ll speak with her.”

Optimus nodded, and his large frame relaxed somewhat. “Good. I don’t want to have to strip either of you of your rank, nor would I wish to place your crew under supervision with limited privileges for direct violation of the Autobot Senior Officer code of conduct.”

“Of course, sir. I understand,” she reaffirmed, despite her lack of confidence in her ability to stop Elita. But what else could she tell the Autobot Commander?

Optimus took a step back and, turning to go, added his final say on the matter. “Also, you and the rest of your crew are forbidden from leaving Iacon Central, until informed otherwise. It is for your own good. Is that understood?”

Chromia’s optics widened in surprise and her jaw slackened a little as she took this in. Her head nodded in obedience. “Loud and clear.”

Optimus gave her a nod, satisfied with the outcome of their brief dialogue, and walked away, leaving her alone to contemplate the new orders. 

* * *

‘Please enter your security code.’

_025-8331delta_

‘That code is invalid. Please re-enter your security code.’

_025-8331delta_

‘That code is invalid. Please re-enter your security code.’

“Oh, for the love of Primus,” Arcee exclaimed sotto voce, and input her code one more time. “Zero, two, five… eight, three, three, one, delta… come on… please work.”

Teletraan II repeated the same error message in its usual droll, feminine voice. Arcee sighed, and leaned against the sealed outer doors that led into the Command Center. Glancing about her, she drew her attention to the sights and sounds of the large exterior of Autobot headquarters. Every so often, an Autobot would walk past her on his way back to his quarters after his night shift was over, and she felt a tang of regret. Perhaps she had been away for too long, but being here again after more than a vorn made her feel as if she didn’t belong. Since she had arrived a few breems earlier, she had not been able to recognise a single mech. Strange faces, with terse smiles, would offer her a cursory glance and a curt nod before they briskly continued on their way, their thoughts elsewhere.

Maybe this just wasn’t meant to be.

As she slowly started down the wide steps that led back to the outer platform, she was startled by a voice to her right, one that was strangely familiar. “Hey, is that you… Arcee?”

She turned around to see who the voice belonged to, and a surprised, though agreeable, look appeared on her face when she saw him. “Red Alert?”

“Wow, it _is_ you! Well, I’ll be fragged!” Red quickly placed a hand over his mouth and glanced around him in a gesture of embarrassment. “Oops, now that’s no way to talk in the presence of a lady mech. What was I thinking?” he rebuked himself mockingly, then stepped forward and greeted her warmly, taking both her hands in his.

“Red?” She chuckled warmly in response. “Well, it’s great to see you, too. Really.” Her optics lit up in delight. “It’s so nice to see another familiar face again.”

“Well, no one expected you to show up here today. So, what’s up?” Red asked her, intensely curious, then reconsidered. “No, wait, say nothing just yet. I’ll tell you what – join me for some energon, and you can tell me all about it. That is, if you’re not too busy right now?”

Arcee smiled in surprise, a little taken aback by his overt friendliness towards her. “Well… okay sure, why not? I was only trying to report in to the Command Center with a dead security code,” she explained exasperatedly, gesturing towards the red backlit control mounted on the large double doors nearby.

Red looked perplexed for a short moment before realization hit him, and he smiled assuredly. “Oooh, yeah… hey, don’t worry about it. Security changed all the codes... what was it, a couple of stellar cycles ago?” He shrugged, and beckoned for her to make her way back towards the double doors. “Please, after you. The place is usually locked this time of night,” he explained as he input his own security code, and the doors slid open without protest.

As Red showed Arcee through the halls and annexes of the Command Center, she looked around in awe, a little dazed. “I can’t believe I’m here again, after all this time,” she reminisced aloud, while Red quietly listened as they walked along down a hall lined with metallic, silver sculptures raised on pedestals. She stopped at one of them, and tilted her head up to examine the intricate work of metallic art. She read the plaque at the bottom. _Prime Nova. In memorium: First Age of the Primes._ Next to it, a similar sculpture indicated its likeness. _Sentinel Prime. Matrix bearer: Third Age of the Primes._ She reached up to touch the gleaming surface, but then pulled backed uncertainly.

Red had stopped walking, and now turned to watch patiently as she was mesmerised by the figures. He nodded his head in agreement. “Yep, our mighty predecessors, without whose heroic sacrifices we would probably not be here today.”

Arcee turned to look back at him, startled. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I got a little side tracked, and… I’ve never seen these.”

“Ah, that’s okay. Take all the time you want.” He smiled. “They were moved here from storage in Altihex only last stellar cycle,” he explained.

“Oh, I see,” she replied, and continued again down the hall. “I have so many questions, Red. I don’t know where to begin.”

Red strode alongside her. “Well, how about: wherever you like?” he offered encouragingly, after some thought.

Arcee smiled sheepishly, considering his offer. “Okay, what about… how have you changed so much?”

Red wavered momentarily, then tilted his head in contemplation. “Who, me?”

“Yes. I mean, not in a bad way,” she assured him. “But you do seem different, somehow. I don’t know.” She shrugged, and her optics met his.

“Well, the Great War’s changed a lot of us,” he offered.

She nodded. “Hmm, that’s true.” They continued walking a little further until they finally arrived at another, smaller set of double doors. There was a plaque overhead, inscribed with Cybertronian letters: _Maintenance and Repair Bay of Central Iacon_.

Red input his security code, and the doors opened. “This way.” He led them inside, as the automatic overhead lights were activated.

Arcee’s gaze widened in bewilderment, and then she looked over quizzically at Red. “Are you going to tell me why you’ve brought me to the Repair Bay, or do you just enjoy keeping me guessing?”

Red laughed, and shook his head. “Nah. You’ll never guess,” he said, grinning. “Acting Chief Medical Officer, at your service,” he introduced himself, and extended his hand in a mock gesture of greeting.

“No, seriously?” Arcee started, genuinely surprised. “My, haven’t we come a long way?”

“Thank you,” Red replied, unable to hide his feeling of pride. “Actually, it’s only been a few days, but still. Oh, I’ll be right back,” he said, and walked across to the back room, disappearing momentarily out of sight. When he returned, he was holding two canisters of energon in his hands. He offered one to her.

“Thank you,” she said, and took the canister. She opened the seal and took a sip.

“It’s the good stuff, you know,” Red affirmed, and swallowed a mouthful of the liquid from his own canister.

“I can tell.”

He could see that she was impressed, as a look of approval appeared on her face. “So, what could have possibly brought you back to the greatest and mightiest of all Autobot cities?” he asked with emphasis, waving his arms outwards. “The grand and majestic Iacon Central, after all this time?”

“Well,” she began, “I guess, with all the stuff that’s been going on I thought I’d come back to offer my help. I heard they’re recruiting trackers, so I thought… why not?”

“Trackers?” Red pondered this information, a little unsure. “Oh! Yeah, that’s right. Yeah, you’ll probably need to speak to Hound about that; he handles that kind of stuff.”

Arcee nodded. “Oh, okay, great.” She fell silent, an awkward moment between them.

“Although… if you don’t mind me saying so, Arcee, I think you’d be better suited to something a little different,” Red finally replied.

“Oh, such as?” she asked, curious.

Red let out a deep breath. “Oh, well, I don’t know. Maybe artillery, or even surveillance–” he began, but was stopped, then, from making any further suggestions by the sudden beeping from his com unit. “Huh, wonder who that could be?” he said, and shrugged. “Excuse me a moment.” He activated the com link. “This is Red Alert.”

A voice crackled over the link, and he waited patiently for the mech on the other end of the line to speak. “Prowl here. Red, standby; Ironhide is on his way to you. He has an Autobot casualty in critical condition.” A pause, and then, “Prepare for emergency procedures.”

Red’s optics lit up in nervous expectation. “Standing by. What is the nature of the emergency?”

The voice on the other end answered him again. “Multiple injuries… several missing internal components… victim unresponsive.” The link went quiet momentarily, then came back online. “Red? You’d best just see for yourself. Prowl out.” Red closed the com link, then slowly turned towards Arcee, his thoughts racing at a million miles an hour in anticipation of the incoming emergency.

Arcee stepped back a little. “I – I’d better get going,” she started, not wanting to get in the way of something serious, and turned to leave.

Red was jolted out of his thoughts. “No! Wait, please. Stay,” he called out after her, and then burst into action, pulling forth an operating table from a wall recess and connecting up various monitors and equipment in preparation for his incoming casualty. She turned questioningly towards him. “I might need your help,” he explained.

“My help?” she repeated, confused. “But I – I’m not a–”

“I’ll instruct you, don’t worry,” Red interjected quickly, as he busied himself around the repair bay, retrieving tools and other equipment. “Just trust me, okay?”

Arcee stood there uncertainly, but then nodded slowly in agreement. “Okay.” She watched him work, and then began following his lead. “What do you need me to do?”


	4. Chapter 4

Prowl wasn’t kidding, was Red’s first thought as he glanced down at the Autobot lying motionless upon the operating table. He looked up at Arcee. “He doesn’t look good. The first thing we need to do is get him stabilized. Make sure he doesn’t lose any more vital fluids,” he said quickly, as he moved around the table connecting various cables and monitors to the off-lined Autobot. He bent down to get a better look at Groove’s condition, assessing the extent of his injuries while making a mental note of what repairs were required in order from most urgent to last. Then he began to disconnect various components and remove damaged panels.

“Is he going to be okay?” Arcee asked, concern in her voice.

Red looked at her, then back to his patient, but didn’t answer her question. Instead, he began searching for one of his instruments. “Pass me the probe,” he said instead, and Arcee pointed to a small, sharp-looking instrument on a nearby side table. “No – that one over there.”

“This one?”

“Yes.” He grasped the tool from her as she offered it, all the while remaining focused upon the patient.

They were quiet for some time, as Red Alert worked on Groove’s chest area. “Arcee?” he said finally, looking up at the pink and white femme. She had been attentively standing by, watching his every move. Red looked around the med bay and then pointed towards a storage unit across the room. “He needs a new power core. You’ll find them over there.”

Arcee hurried over to where he was pointing, opened the storage panel and retrieved a cylindrical unit. She walked back over and carefully handed it to him. “He was missing his power core?” she asked, a little surprised.

Red began to position the unit into the receptacle inside Groove’s chest. “Yeah,” he said in disbelief, “and a whole lot of other components as well.” He shook his head, trying to comprehend what had happened to Groove, and looked over at one of the monitors to study the read-outs that were moving slowly across the screen. He initialized the power core, keeping his optics steadily on the monitor. Groove’s body reacted with a jolt, then lay motionless once again. “Slag,” Red said softly to himself, then attempted the same thing again; still the same response. He sighed in frustration, and gently removed the power core, examining it.

“Should we try another one?” Arcee asked him, hopeful yet uncertain.

He paused, inhaled deeply, and slowly shook his head. “No, that won’t help. There’s nothing wrong with this one.” He paused in concentration. What had he missed? Why wasn’t the power core linking in with Groove’s systems? Then he had an idea. It was an unlikely explanation, but considering Groove’s critical condition anything was better than nothing.

He picked up the probe and carefully searched for a small groove behind the power core receptacle. After a few moments, he retracted the probe. It was as he feared; the small recess was empty. He slowly straightened, placed the probe to one side. A look of new concern came across his face.

“Is he going to be alright?” Arcee asked. Red Alert turned to face her, unsure of how he was going to explain the situation to her. He didn’t want to worry the femme, but Groove’s condition was serious. “Red?”

“He’s in a stable condition, for now. But without his primary systems link, he’s not going to be able to accept a new power core.” She listened quietly as he explained the problem. “We can keep him on external power support, but his spark chamber will be isolated and without a backup source.”

“Can we replicate a new one for him?” Arcee suggested, thinking back to her days at the Academy, long ago, when she had received a rudimentary run-down of emergency repair procedures.

Red Alert shook his head in resignation. “No, a primary systems link can’t be replicated that easily. It requires a rare form of alloy, which is almost impossible to get these days after the Alliance declared it off limits. By the time I’ve gone through the requisition process alone, it’ll already be too late for him.”

“So, that’s it? We can’t do anything more for him?” Arcee stared down at the damaged Autobot, and a sudden feeling of sadness swept over her. Red remained silent. “How could a mech do this to him? I mean, w _hy_ would they?” she asked in a soft voice, almost whispering.

“I don’t know, Arcee,” Red replied in controlled anger, though she understood that his anger was not directed at her. He hated feeling this helpless, and he wished that there were something more he could do for Groove. His systems had been stabilised, and he was now connected to life support, but it wouldn’t be enough. Red took a deep intake, looked up towards the ceiling for a long moment, and then started to walk towards the main doors. “We’ve done all we can for now,” he said to her, and she quietly followed him out of the med bay.

* * *

During the early hours of the next day, there was much commotion outside the main conference room. Autobots and a few Neutrals from various stations around the Command Center were gathered there, demanding to know more about last night’s attack and maybe even get a good look at the Decepticon responsible.

“Alright, now why don’t you all just back off a little? Give us a bit of room,” Ironhide was saying, amidst the cacophony of voices that were all speaking at once. Prowl stood beside him, arms crossed, trying to keep the growing crowd from encroaching upon them but to no avail.

“Is he going to make it?” a voice called out from the crowd, inquiring about Groove’s condition.

“Justice must be served! Let’s find them all and take ‘em out, one by one!” a tall mech at the back of the crowd called out, his fist in the air. The crowd cheered in agreement, and the bustling and shouting grew more intense. “The Decepticons won’t stand a chance!” More cheers from the crowd.

“Now, wait just a nanosecond,” Ironhide told the assembled mechs, yelling over the top of them. “We’ve no doubt that justice will be served-”

“What of the victim? Is he going to be okay?” another voice cut in, anxious, and the crowd quietened a little to hear what Ironhide had to say.

“I’m sure Groove’s going to be just fine. Why, he’s in good hands, don’t you worry too much about him,” he replied, trying to sound confident. But the crowd wasn’t satisfied with his answer and resumed their shouting and questioning all at once. Ironhide could see two Autobots approaching from down the hall and, when he realized that the taller one was Red Alert, he let out a sigh of relief. “Ah, Red’s here. Thank Primus.”

“Hey, now, that Arcee?” Jazz said, turning his head in the direction of the hallway. He smiled, pushed his way through the crowd towards them. “Hey, Arcee! Long time, no see! Heh heh,” he greeted her warmly, and she returned his welcome.

“It’s great to see you again, Jazz.” Arcee looked around delightedly and greeted each of them in turn, old friends who were happy, albeit surprised, to see her again.

Jazz then nodded towards Red Alert. “So, how’s our patient doing, Red?”

Red’s expression was serious, and he shook his head slowly, not daring to speak too loudly lest the Autobots in the crowd should overhear him and start a riot. “Who are we waiting on?” Red said instead, changing the topic.

“Prime,” Jazz responded, then gestured towards the hallway, “and speaking of the big bot, here he comes now.”

Red turned to look behind him and saw the tall, red and blue Autobot leader steadily approaching them. Optimus stopped in front of the gathering, and then turned his head towards the unexpected visitor. “Arcee... good to have you back,” he acknowledged, and she smiled gratefully in return, but he offered her nothing further. His mind was on more important matters.

Prowl opened the door to the conference room and allowed the small group of waiting Autobot officers inside before the door sealed closed again, safely separating them from the angry throng outside.

They all took their seats and waited patiently for Prime to commence the meeting. Arcee had been allowed to join them at the last minute, on Red’s recommendation. Also present, in addition to Ironhide, Prowl, and Jazz, was Hound. Ratchet was notably absent.

“Red, what’s Groove’s condition?” Optimus began, sounding almost cold, distant.

Red took a deep intake. “He’s stable, but he’s hooked up to an external power source.” Red paused and looked towards Arcee, then back to the Prime. “Without his primary link, he’s not going to last long.”

Optimus sat back slowly, processing this information. The others in the room shared a common expression of concern and compassion for the off-lined Autobot. “How long does he have without it?”

Red Alert let out another deep breath, shaking his head. “I’d say one month, at most; after that, the best we can do is put him into semi-permanent stasis.” Red paused, wanting to give them some kind of hope, but he could think of nothing else. “Without the cybernite compound, we can’t help him.”

Optimus nodded in understanding, and then turned to Prowl. “Is there any chance that we can get his original component back?”

“We checked the entire area where Groove was found. If it had been left behind, we would have retrieved it by now,” the Chief of Security reported, trying to ignore his own feelings of disappointment and despair.

“Has Scavenger been questioned? Perhaps he knows where it is,” Prime continued.

Prowl shook his head. “He hasn’t spoken a word since we brought him here,” he explained. “He’s refusing to talk.”

“I see,” Optimus returned, and then fell quiet as he weighed up their options.

Ironhide leaned forward, his right fist making contact with the conference table. “Why, that’s no problem at all. I can get him to talk, if you’ll let me, Prime!”

“Thank you, Ironhide. I’m sure that none of us here doubt that,” Optimus responded. “However, a slightly different approach might be worth a shot.” They all looked back at him expectantly, and Optimus nodded towards Jazz.

The First Lieutenant gave him a knowing look. “Only too glad to oblige,” he replied, smiling confidently, then said no more.

“Good.” Optimus looked back at the others. “In the meantime, Hound; transmit a planet-wide broadcast to all Decepticons and give them two options: surrender willingly, or risk permanent deactivation. Their recent acts of hostility against the Alliance can no longer be tolerated.”

Hound appeared deep in thought, a little shocked. “Ah, Prime?”

“Yes, Hound?”

“Are you sure you want to do that? A prior warning might give them enough time to try to escape off world,” the green tracker pointed out.

“I agree with Hound,” Ironhide added, “For once. Wouldn’t it be better if we just took them without warning?”

Optimus nodded. “Maybe so, however; they may also think twice before they decide to attack another innocent Autobot.” The assembled officers contemplated his reasoning, and quietly agreed.

After a few moments, Red Alert broke the silence. “Oh, sir? May I make a small request?”

“Go ahead.”

Red looked towards Arcee. “In Ratchet’s absence, I’d like to officially bring Arcee on board as my assistant.”

The femme was speechless; her optics widened in astonishment, and she placed a hand over her mouth. This had come as a total surprise to her, but Red only smiled.

Optimus thought on it for a moment, and then made his decision. “Granted.” He looked around the conference table at each of them, and then stood up from his seat. “Now, is there anything else?” No one replied. “Good. Keep me updated, all of you,” he said, and then exited the room.

* * *

After the meeting with the High Commander, Astro had tailed Rook for quite some time, following him and watching his every move from a safe distance until, finally, the mech was alone.

The former Decepticon had just finished compiling a detailed personnel report for Jhiaxus, and was headed to the second in command’s quarters with the intention of handing it to him. As he was making his way down the long, gloomy corridor, surrounded on all sides by solid steel and rock, he was startled by someone calling out his name in a harsh whisper. “Rook! _Rook!_ ”

Rook stopped walking and glanced around. “Who is that?” he called out uncertainly.

“Rook! Over here,” the voice called out again, and Rook turned towards its direction. Astro stepped out from the shadows, his tall, blue frame only half-visible.

“Oh, it’s you,” Rook said, looking somewhat relieved. “What do you want? I’m busy.”

Astro stepped closer until he stood in front of him. He held a laser pistol casually in his right hand; it was pointing down towards the floor.

The green and white colored mech took a small step backwards, staring at the pistol. “What do you think you’re doing with that?” Rook slowly lifted his hand with the intention of activating his com unit, but Astro stopped him. The gun moved towards his head, and Rook spread his hands out in a placating gesture.

“You are coming with me,” Astro said simply, and reached forward to grab Rook’s arm. Rook struggled in his grip, tried to push him away, but it was no use; Astro was larger and significantly stronger than he was. He led Rook back down the hall in the opposite direction.

“Will you at least tell me where we’re going?” Rook asked, more than a little annoyed at the sudden rude interruption to his routine.

“Just keep walking, and don’t stop until I tell you.”

* * *

Scavenger sat motionless in his holding cell, somewhere deep underground within the heart of Autobot territory, restraints still secured around his wrists and lower legs. He didn’t know exactly where he was, and his internal com link to his team members did not seem to be working. He was essentially alone and unable to contact anyone for help; nor had he any way of letting them know what had happened to him, or where they might find him. The small, darkened cell didn’t help to alleviate his intense feeling of loneliness, and an overwhelming despair had enveloped him from the moment he had been brought down here through the connecting tunnels.

He could see a number of holding cells adjacent to his own, as well as some across the hallway, but they were all empty. As far as he could tell, there was not another living spark around; even the Autobots refused to post guards here if it wasn’t absolutely necessary.

Prowl had attempted to interrogate him earlier, when they had first brought him down here, but he had remained quiet, refusing to answer any of his questions, and the security chief soon gave up. He had been grateful for the fact that Streetwise had not been present, particularly after the interceptor had already taken the liberty to exact some punishment upon him for his alleged crime, and Scavenger had no doubt that he would be more than willing to do so all over again. He had assumed that he would be blamed for attacking that Protectobot in Iacon’s south late last night, and he had assumed correctly.

In the deathly quiet of his underground prison, Scavenger heard the sound of footsteps approaching, and he became anxious. Had they sent someone else down here to try and extract a confession from him; this time, perhaps, with a little more persuasion? He didn’t know if he would be able to stay strong and resist their efforts, should his captors resort to unreasonable, even perverse, means. The last thing he wanted to do was to betray the Decepticons, or his team mates, and if it had to come down to it – if his Autobot captors left him with no other choice – he would sacrifice himself for the cause. But he hoped that it would never come to that.

So, when he saw Jazz, the Autobots’ special operations team teader, emerging from the shadows in the hallway, he did not know what to make of the unexpected visit.

He had met Jazz briefly a few times in the past, when their paths had crossed during some clash or another between their two factions, but he had to admit that he didn’t know a lot about him; he usually made it a point not to get to know any of the Autobots on a personal level, as he believed that it was much safer that way.

He watched Jazz carefully, without moving his head, as the Autobot disengaged the cell’s energy bars, stepped inside, and reactivated them again. The thought of taking this opportunity to escape momentarily crossed his mind, but then he thought better of it. Even if he were able to move freely and overpower the Autobot, he doubted very much that he would be able to get very far once outside the cell. This was a high security facility, designed to prevent even the most dangerous of mechs from escaping.

Jazz broke the silence, placing a canister of liquid on the bench beside him. “I brought you some of the good stuff. Thought you may need it.”

Scavenger remained motionless, making no effort to accept, or even acknowledge, the generous offering. It was true that he was low on fuel and he could have done with a refill, but he didn’t trust the Autobot’s motives.

Jazz caught on and tried to reassure him. “Look, I’m not here to torment you, if that’s what you’re thinking. I’m not into treating prisoners unfairly.” Jazz watched him intently, but the Decepticon’s optics remained hidden beneath the red visor he wore, and his face guard covered the rest, so he was unable to read him easily. “Alright then, suit yourself. I’ll tell you what, though – I’ll leave it here for you, anyways, just in case you change your mind,” he said, indicating the can of energon. Scavenger did not respond, nor did he react at all.

Jazz moved slowly towards the bench, and sat down on the opposite end. He did not want to alarm the prisoner, or give him any reason to mistrust him more than he already did. “You know… if it helps, we could talk about what happened last night. No pressure, o’ course,” Jazz said, speaking in his usual, easy-going and friendly manner. No response. Jazz sat there quietly, intent upon the prisoner; he was in no hurry, and had nowhere else to be right now. “You know, things should never have gone this far,” he said, rather unexpectedly, a spontaneous sentiment that was spark-felt. It didn’t matter that the mech he happened to be sharing it with was one of the enemy. And, with no one else around to hear them, what difference would it truly make, anyway? “I mean, the whole war between our factions.” He paused, studied the Decepticon carefully. “Heh. I mean, look at us Autobots.” He indicated with his arms, spreading them out in a gesture of mock grandeur. “Champions, ultimate freedom fighters… yep, that’s us, alright – the heroic Autobots, all safe and secure in our ivory tower, and what have we to show for it all? I mean, sure, we got our freedom, and I guess that’s all that matters.” He turned to look at Scavenger again. The Decepticon hadn’t moved, but Jazz could tell that he was listening; Jazz had a sort of intuition about such things, if a bot could call it that.

“I remember once, during the Great War… two of us, we’d just been hit by an incoming, out along near the escarpment that divides the Kaon city state into two. I’d called for back up. My team mate - he’d been hit pretty bad, but those missiles just kept coming at us, and I was sure that that night would be the night we’d both be finally meeting our maker.” Jazz leaned back against the cell wall, recalling the memory. “But then something happened, and for the life of me I still can’t explain it to this day. Some jets showed up in the sky… it looked like they were redirecting those missiles away from us, and at first I thought it might be the Aerialbots come to rescue us. So I tried to signal them, scanned their signatures.”

Jazz leaned forward, thinking carefully about his next few words. “And that’s when I realized that they weren’t ‘bots at all. They were Decepticons.” The holding cell fell into silence, and Jazz turned to look at the prisoner. The only reaction he got was a subtle tilt of his head towards him. “I never included it in my report, you know, and my partner had been too heavily damaged at the time to have even noticed them.” He smiled to himself, but more in disbelief at the memory of that day than anything else.

Jazz watched Scavenger’s reaction carefully. He looked so defeated and alone, sitting here now, that he couldn’t help but feel sorry for him, no matter what he may have done. “From that day on, I always figured that I owed you guys one,” Jazz continued, “that someday, I’d find the opportunity to repay that gesture – whether it had been intentional or not.” Jazz shrugged. “Like I said, I never did find out exactly who or why, but if it hadn’t been for those ‘Cons that day, we would have surely ended up on the scrap heap.” A long moment passed by in silence.

Jazz slowly stood up, and headed towards the exit. “Well, I guess I better be going,” he said, and deactivated the cell bars. As he stepped outside into the hall, he thought he heard Scavenger say something, but his voice had been too low for him to hear. He turned back towards him.

The Decepticon was looking up, and Jazz sensed a reserved desperation. Scavenger spoke again, pleading, clearer this time. “I didn’t do it.”

* * *

“He did _what?_ ” Elita’s voice blared over her private com link. “Chromia, how could you let him do that?”

“He gave me no choice! What else was I supposed to do?” Chromia replied, exasperated. She had headed back to her quarters almost an hour ago, where she had anxiously awaited her captain and best friend to contact her.

Elita gave a sigh from the other end. “Oh, I don’t know.” A long pause followed, and then, “Look, are you with me or not?”

The blue femme was distraught. “I can’t, Elita. I’d be disobeying direct orders.”

“You think I don’t know that?” returned the leader class femme, her frustration apparent. Chromia listened, but didn’t reply straight away. Instead, she simply allowed her best friend to continue speaking. “I heard about what happened last night. It proves my point – things are only going to get worse, and no one in Command’s doing anything about it!”

“You could have told me, you know,” Chromia said finally.

The com link was quiet, and then, “Yeah… well. I didn’t want to get any of the crew into trouble, that’s all.”

“Elita, this is crazy. I mean – where will you go? And what if you get into trouble? What will you do then?” The line was quiet on the other end, and Chromia began to wonder whether she had said the wrong thing.

There was a sigh. “I’m departing in two breems. If you’re not here by then, I’ll just have to leave without you.” A slight pause, and then the line disconnected.

* * *

Jazz stepped back into the holding cell and reactivated the energy bars, which reappeared instantly behind him. He walked back towards the bench, sat down once more. This time, the prisoner was tracking him, his optical sensors remaining locked on him.

In truth, Jazz had not expected such a confession, and he was taken aback by it. He wasn’t aware of any Autobot, including Prowl, or even Optimus himself, who had even considered the possibility that this Decepticon may actually be innocent of the crime that he’d been charged with. But could it be? He took his time and then looked towards him, matching his gaze, studying him.

There was always the possibility that Scavenger had lied to him, of course; his only motivation being to escape, which was understandable in his situation, and Jazz was well aware of this. Despite the possibility, however, he had a strong sense that he had told the truth, and Jazz was not about to simply disregard his inner knowing, regardless of how unlikely, or impossible, it may seem. It was the very same intuition that had seen him safely through many difficult situations in the past, and he knew better than to simply dismiss it.

“You saw what happened?” he asked.

Scavenger was motionless, silent, but then turned his head away, looking down at the cold, metallic floor of the holding cell. He was still for a long while, before he replied in a quiet voice. “No,” he said.

But what Jazz had heard instead was, ‘ _Yes_ ’.

Whatever it was that he had witnessed last night, he was refusing to even talk about it. Perhaps he was afraid to; perhaps, he didn’t want to tattle on his team mates. Or, perhaps…

Jazz wasn’t sure, but he did intend to get to the bottom of it, whatever the truth may be.

“Well, that’s too bad. Groove’s in pretty bad shape. Whoever did it, they knew what they were doing,” Jazz explained, as Scavenger listened quietly.

After a few long moments, Scavenger spoke up again, changing the topic. “What’s going to happen… to us?”

The black and white Autobot watched him closely. “‘Us’? Oh, you mean the Decepticons?” Scavenger remained still, not saying anything further, but waited for Jazz to answer him.

He couldn’t lie; the Decepticons were not in a good position and, in his view, their future did not seem promising. He shrugged, took a deep intake. “I really can’t say for sure,” he started, and then his expression turned to one of regret. “But, I want you to know… that I don’t think it’s right.” No response, but he continued, regardless. “Like I said before, this whole thing’s just gotten way out of hand.”

There was another long pause, and then Scavenger leaned his head back against the cell wall. He spoke once more. “If… I never see ‘em again, could you tell ‘em that… that I’m sorry?”

Jazz realized that he was talking about his fellow Constructicons. “Hey, probably won’t ever come to that, now,” Jazz said, trying to lighten the mood, but it was a weak cover, and they both knew it. The situation did seem to be all but hopeless. “I tell you what; I’ll try to put in a good word for you, and maybe it won’t be as bad as all that.” That was the best he could offer him, for now.

Scavenger continued to sit there in silence, unmoving, unresponsive, as Jazz left him alone again in the cell.

* * *

Astro led Rook all the way out to the base’s main space port, making sure they weren’t seen, then, looking around at the various cruisers that were sheltered there, he found one that he liked. “Come on,” he ordered Rook, and forced him towards a sleek, black warship, his gun still pointed at the mech's back.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Rook challenged angrily, when he saw Astro entering a high level security code on the black warship’s access panel. “This ship belongs to Jhiaxus! He’s going to melt you to scrap if he finds out you’ve been anywhere near it!”

“He’ll have to catch us first,” Astro replied calmly, as the ship’s main hatch slid open without protest.

“How did you get that code?” Rook demanded, astonished.

Astro ignored him, forced him inside the ship, and then sealed the door closed again. As he was about to turn back to Rook, the smaller mech pushed him against the wall, and then frantically tried to reopen the hatch.

Quickly recovering from the shove, Astro grabbed Rook by the shoulders and forced him away with a strength that completely overwhelmed him. Rook was thrown hard against the floor of the cruiser. Astro redirected his gun towards him, standing over him.

“Why… why are you doing this?” Rook pleaded with him, his voice apprehensive, back flat to the floor. The taller mech bent down towards him, and then offered him a hand up, but Rook refused it. Instead, he slowly picked himself up.

Astro lowered his pistol. “We’re getting out of here,” he said. He walked over to the command platform and powered up the cruiser. Lights and various control terminals whirred to life in response.

“Yes, I can see that,” Rook replied. “But, _why?_ ”

Astro seemed very reluctant to shed any light about his intentions. “You’ll thank me later,” was all he said.

Rook grew ever more exasperated. “You’re crazy. You want to get us both killed! That’s it, isn’t?” Astro ignored him, so he tried a different tactic. “Alright, how about this: let me off this cruiser, _at once!_ ” Rook seethed.

Astro busied himself with the controls, initiating the cruiser’s engines and programming the navigational system. “Just keep quiet and make yourself useful.”

“I won’t cooperate with you at all until you tell me exactly what is going on!” Rook continued, raising his voice, stepping in between Astro and the ship’s defence console until he was right in his face.

Astro sighed, stepped away from him. “Alright, have it your way,” he replied. He walked back to the main platform and took the captain’s chair. “Here’s how thing’s are going to play out.”

Rook seemed to back down a little, happy at least to be getting some information out of the mysterious mechanoid.

Astro continued. “You and I are going to be picking up another passenger. We’ll have to find him first, however; and you’re going to help me do that.” Rook could only look at him now, dumbfounded.

“Then, once he is safe, we’ll depart for Cybertron,” he continued, and then paused, waited for Rook’s incredulous response. He got it.

“You _are_ crazy,” Rook said, convinced beyond any doubt. “Who _are_ you?”

“That’s not important. The real question is, who are you?” Astro threw back at him.

“Who am I? Who am _I_?” Rook threw his hands up in the air in a gesture of incredulousness. “I’ll tell you who I am! I’m Rook; personal assistant to Jhiaxus, the second in command to the one and only, Most High Commander of Alternity City. And if you don’t let me go – _right now_ – I’m going to be your worst nightmare!”

Astro appeared to be completely unperturbed by Rook’s emotional outburst. Instead, he replied slowly, “That’s not who you are.”

Rook stared at him blankly, disbelieving, and then decided to give in. “Alright, Astro. I’ll tell you what – I’ll play along. Let’s see where this goes. And then, you can let me go. Deal?” Rook offered.

Astro shook his head. “No deal.” Rook bowed his head, not sure what else he could do. He was being held against his will by a mad-mech who planned to transport them both all the way back to Cybertron in a stolen cruiser. He finally sat back down on the floor, head in his hands in defeat, while Astro guided the cruiser out of the space port.

* * *

Jazz sat alone in the main recreational area, which was located on the ground floor right in the heart of the Command Centre. He appeared to be overly introspective, and quite unlike his usual self.

“Hey, Jazz?” a soft voice called out to him, and he was startled out of his reverie.

He looked up. “Arcee,” he greeted her, trying to sound as upbeat as possible but failing.

“Mind if I join you?” she asked, indicating the empty chair at his table.

“Be my guest,” Jazz replied, offering her the seat. “So, how’s the patient?”

She sighed. “His condition hasn’t changed. We’re still trying to figure out how to help him.” She sounded solemn, distraught. Then she changed the subject. “It’s great to be back,” she said, and smiled. When he didn’t respond, she tried again. “Want to talk about it?”

“Hm?”

“Whatever’s troubling you, Jazz. I might have been gone a long time, but you’re just as easy to read as you’ve ever been. You don’t fool me.” She reached out a hand, placed it on one of his. “I’ve always hated seeing you like this.”

Jazz sighed, conceded. She was right. Nevertheless, he didn’t want to talk about it. “Heh. It’s nothing. Maybe the attack on Groove last night… hit me a little harder than I expected, you know?”

Arcee nodded with compassion, retracting her hand. “I feel even worse for Streetwise, and the rest of the Protectobots.”

Jazz leaned forward, clasped his hands together in thought. “How’re they taking it?”

She shook her head. “Not well.” Jazz nodded in understanding. “In fact, they were furious,” she continued. “They sought an expedited verdict, and have just been granted their request for the Decepticon’s permanent deactivation, first thing tomorrow-”

“Hey, now, hold on just a minute – they did what?” Jazz looked at her in shock, clearly unnerved by the news. He sounded irritated, almost angry, and his expression turned cold.

Arcee drew back a little in concern, puzzled. “I’m sorry, Jazz. I–”

Jazz stood up suddenly. “’Scuse me, but there’s something I gotta do,” he said, and walked out of the rec room in a hurry without looking back.

*

When he arrived at the control room, several bots were standing in a circle talking amongst themselves.

“Ah, Jazz. I was just about to send for you,” the Autobot Commander greeted him. Beside him stood Prowl, Ironhide, and two of the Protectobots; Streetwise, and their leader, Hot Spot.

Jazz dispensed with any greetings, which was very unlike his usual, cheery self. “Just when were you planning on telling me?” he said, looking towards Optimus and Hot Spot. They returned expressions of confusion, so he clarified. “You’ve all decided to become judge, jury, and executioner all of a sudden?”

“Jazz…” Optimus began, realization hitting him. Though he still wasn’t exactly sure why his First Lieutenant should be so upset.

“Have you _seen_ the condition Groove’s in? And it’s no thanks to that piece of Decepticon slag!” Hot Spot interjected, raising his voice in anger. He was far taller and more heavily built than Jazz, but this didn’t seem to intimidate the head of special operations. “As far as we’re all concerned, he’s better off dead!”

“That right?” Jazz shot back. “You speak for all here, then?” No one answered, unsure of what to make of Jazz’s unusual reaction. “Well?” he pressed, looking at each of them in turn. “Prowl?” The security officer looked down toward the floor, unwilling to meet Jazz’s gaze. “Ironhide?” He turned to Ironhide, who looked back at him with a grim expression on his face.

“You’re not supposed to be siding with _them_ , Jazz!” Ironhide challenged, a little angry himself at Jazz’s unexpected accusations.

“I ain’t siding with them, Ironhide. All I’m saying is that every mech deserves a fair trial, no matter who they are.”

“Decepticons deserve what they get!” Ironhide retorted, retribution evident in his tone.

Jazz ignored him. “Prime, just give me a little more time. I can find out what happened to Groove.”

Optimus let out a small sigh, inaudible. “I can’t, Jazz. It’s already been decided.”

All optics were now on Jazz, silently questioning him, as if he were being accused of attempting to deprive them of the justice that they so desperately needed. “What’s been decided, exactly?” Jazz did not want to hear the answer to this question, but he needed to know for sure. Perhaps, there was a small chance that Arcee had been misinformed.

Prowl informed him of the decision, as calmly and unemotionally as he was able. “The prisoner is to undergo a permanent deactivation.” So, it was true.

Jazz fell quiet. He knew how a permanent deactivation was usually carried out – he had had the misfortune of witnessing one first hand – and was well aware of how cruel and excruciating they actually were. In fact, the term ‘permanent deactivation’ was misleading; it was a procedure that had originally been designed as a form of elaborate punishment. The deactivated victim was subjected to a methodical dismantling of his structure, essentially pulling him apart piece by piece, in the most painful way possible, until all that remained was the personality chip, cranial unit and spark chamber sealed within a box; a silent prison that the victim would have to endure indefinitely. Not many mechs knew what the procedure actually entailed, nor had they ever seen one being performed. “When?” he asked in a low voice. He was met with only silence, so he asked again, this time more forcefully. “ _When_?”

“At five hundred tomorrow,” Prowl said simply.

Jazz turned to Optimus again, beseeching him. “Prime, this is wrong!” His anger momentarily disappeared; it was replaced with regret. “There’s got to be some other way.”

But the faces around him stared back resolutely, and mixed emotions of anger, resentment, and apprehension strongly pervaded the room.

“Jazz,” Optimus said again, trying to get him to see things differently. “I have no choice-”

But Jazz was too disheartened, too disappointed, to hear him out. “This isn’t who we are,” he said simply, shaking his head. “It isn’t who we are,” he repeated, and walked away.

* * *

A few minutes after the _Avenger_ had been scheduled to depart, Chromia found Elita One sitting in the captain’s chair of the war cruiser, staring out the main view screen. The ship was powered down, and the only source of illumination was the emergency backup lighting. The Autobot Co-Commander was alone.

“Elita?” Chromia called from behind her as she approached. There was no response. “Elita?” she called again, more loudly, but Elita remained unmoving. “What happened?” Chromia asked her, as she came to stand in front of her. “I thought you were leaving?” She looked around the dim ship in disbelief.

Elita had her hands clasped together; chin resting on top, elbows leaning on the console in front of her. She looked deep in thought, yet her expression gave none of her thoughts away. Finally, she looked up at Chromia. “Not without my crew,” she said simply.

The blue femme looked at her exasperatedly. “But, I thought you said–”

“I know what I said.” Elita sighed. She shook her head slowly, leaned back in her chair and then looked up at her second-in-command, palms facing upward in a shrug. “You were right. I’ll need a crew – _my_ crew – if I’m going to do this at all.”

There was a noise behind them, and they turned to see where it was coming from; Firestar, a red colored femme, and Moonracer, a green one, had boarded the ship. The latest arrivals stopped when they saw the two of them up on the command platform.

“Firestar? Moonracer?” the blue femme inquired, unsure why they had come. They must have followed her.

Firestar gave them a small shrug. “A captain needs her crew.” Moonracer was grinning. They had been informed of Elita’s intentions, though Chromia had relayed to them the direct orders from Prime; that they were not to assist her in any way, and that they were to remain in Iacon.

Chromia looked at the two of them in surprise, and then concern. “Do you know what you’re risking, just by being here?”

“Well, sure,” Moonracer replied, excited. “But where’s the fun in obeying stuffy orders?”

The second in command was speechless. She didn’t quite believe that Moonracer understood the full implications of what they were doing. “Firestar?” she asked, hoping that she would speak more sense.

“Sorry, Chrome,” the red femme said, “but I agree with Moonracer… this time.” Moonracer gave her a poke in mock hurt. “Come on, let’s get this ship off the ground,” she said, ignoring the green femme, and headed for the navigational console, as Moonracer followed her with a skip in her step.

Chromia looked back towards Elita One in bewilderment, and then gave her a shrug. “Well, it looks like we don’t have a choice.” Then she started towards the navigational array, helping Firestar initialize the engines and set course for their destination. “We’re all crazy,” she said, astonished, shaking her head.

Moonracer giggled. “I know, right?”

The ship’s systems burst into life, and the engines hummed steadily in the background. Elita One slowly stood up, and watched her crew as they guided the ship off its launch platform and into Cybertronian space. She couldn’t be more proud of them as she was now, or more afraid for them.

“Alternity City, here we come,” she said quietly to herself.

* * *

The next duty cycle was slowly approaching, though most mechs were still in recharge.

Jazz had remained in his quarters after the confrontation in the control room, but had found himself unable to go into recharge mode. Then, when Optimus came to see him unannounced, he did nothing to stop him from entering his quarters. The Prime closed the door behind him.

“Jazz,” he began, “I owe you an apology. You were right; I should have said something to you earlier.”

Jazz looked at him resignedly. “Nah, no need for that. Like you said; you had no choice.”

Optimus slowly walked over and took a seat opposite him. “The High Council decided that it would be the most appropriate course of action, considering what he’s done… and, it may deter similar incidents from occurring in future.”

Jazz nodded slowly. “And you agreed with them, just like that? Just… let them make the judgment call without considering all the evidence?” Accusation was underlying his tone, though it was subtle.

The leader mech sighed. “Jazz, what I don’t get is why this is bothering you so much. Is there something you’re not telling me?”

Jazz acknowledged the Autobot leader with a steady gaze. “Prime,” he said carefully, “what if I were to tell you that Scavenger wasn’t the one who attacked Groove?” The question hung in the room like a sudden bee sting, the pain of its implication unavoidable.

Optimus didn’t respond straight away; he didn’t have a ready answer. But when Jazz said nothing more, he felt as though he should speak up. “Do you have any proof of that?”

Jazz looked away from the Commander’s gaze, and shook his head in disparagement. “When did we start believing in ‘guilty until proven innocent’?”

The Autobot Commander visibly stiffened, shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “You know it’s not like that, Jazz.” He sighed, wanting to put his point across in the right way. “Jazz, we should never forget what we Autobots have had to endure over the vorns, at the hands of the Decepticons. Many of us will never be able to forgive them. And, believe me when I tell you that no matter how much time passes, or how much they appear to have changed, they will _never_ be anything other than what they are.” It was now Optimus’ turn to convey his anger and frustration, his voice laced with a bitterness and resentment that had been forged many, many eons ago. “They will always be Decepticons, Jazz. You turn your back for just one minute, and they’ll turn on you. They look out only for themselves.” He stood up to leave then, but stopped to place a knowing hand upon his friend’s shoulder. “No matter what happens… don’t ever forget what they truly are.”

And with that, the Prime Commander left him alone in his quarters.

* * *

To be free amongst the stars, in pursuit of her dreams. There was nothing more satisfying, no greater reason for being. Elita One was again reminded of the great sense of purpose this always gave her, as her ship travelled through space, intent on reaching the Destron Space Precinct. Since their departure, she had experienced a peace of mind that had eluded her since she’d last gone on a real mission months ago, and now with a greater clarity and sense of awareness her thoughts drifted back towards Optimus Prime.

The Autobot leader had been the primary source of her strength for as long as she could remember, had supported her and encouraged her whenever she had needed him. They had faced much together, seen through both good and bad times together; their individual hopes and dreams had always been mutual and inseparable. But now it seemed as though they were drifting apart, and she wasn’t sure whether it wasn’t all her doing.

‘For the good of Cybertron,’ he would often state. ‘For the good of all.’ And she’d never had any reason to doubt him, or question his judgment. What had happened since then? When had things started to change between them? These very questions were on her mind when Chromia looked up from her console, alerted. They had been on course for almost four hours, and were finally approaching their destination. Alternity City – the greatest testament to the most advanced cybernetic technology in the known universe, hung starkly in the blackness of space – it occupied the view screen in front of them, a multitude of smaller satellites orbiting its enormous circumference like tiny insects.

“What is it?” the captain asked, speaking for the first time in several breems.

“It looks like some sort of anomaly directly in our path. I can’t make it out.”

Elita One stood up from her chair, moved towards Chromia’s station. She leaned forwards, examined the data. “Have you tried a sub-space scan?”

The blue femme shook her head. “First thing I tried.”

Elita One stepped back. “Can you enhance the image?” she said, and Chromia tapped a few buttons. The anomaly appeared on the main view screen, larger now. It looked as if a portion of space had become distorted, and was visibly moving closer towards them.

“Elita-” the second in command began, but her captain was already one step ahead of her.

“Activate shields!” she commanded, and no sooner had she done so than the first torpedo hit their ship head on. The sudden attack had appeared from seemingly out of nowhere.

The entire ship and crew jolted with the impact, as Chromia worked frantically to raise their defences. She made it just in time, before the second torpedo hit them again.

This time the impact was less damaging, though it was still very much felt.

“They’re using concealment technology,” Elita One informed them, speaking to no one in particular. “Frag it.” Another torpedo knocked them slightly off course.

“Adjusting,” Chromia informed her captain. “If the torpedos continue… at this rate, I won’t be able to stay on course,” she added in frustration.

Elita looked over at Firestar, who was seated behind the weapons array. “Firestar, see if you can get a manual lock and return fire!”

As the torpedoes kept coming, Elita One and her crew did the best they could to thwart the attack, but they had veered off course and one of the ship’s power cells had already been severely damaged. Firestar targeted the cloaked vessel as best she could, but it seemed to be able to pre-empt her every move, and her laser fire kept avoiding its target.

“Shields aren’t holding!” Chromia reported.

“Divert all backup power to shields-” Elita One yelled out, before the ship took a closer hit that almost sent them spinning off into space. She and her crew were thrown about the deck as if they were micro-bots. Chromia slammed hard against the floor, as Firestar and Moonracer barely managed to hold onto their seats. Elita was picking herself up and moving towards Chromia to offer assistance. “Are you okay?” she asked, helping her up.

Chromia nodded as she shakily got to her feet. “Who-who could be doing this?” she asked, perplexed. “Decepticons?”

Elita’s expression was grim, but she didn’t reply. She didn’t know. “Come on, we’ve got to get the shields back up–”

Another direct hit sent them veering towards the navigational console. “Shields are low on power. The vessel is within close range!” Moonracer reported, taking over Chromia’s function.

They all turned towards the main view screen. “Slag it!” Elita One was saying, but Chromia could hardly hear her. She had her optics fixated upon the view screen, her mind trying to make sense of their current predicament. The anomaly had changed its course, and was now attacking their ship’s starboard engines. Alternity City was all that could be seen in front of them now, the image spinning slowly like a ball rotating on its axis, as it loomed ever closer. The vast expanse of the city scape filled every inch of the view screen, revealing the built up streets and multi-layered complexes that formed an enormous, interconnected network bustling with activity.

In one crucial moment where time almost stood still, the ship crashed into a communications tower in one of Alternity City’s many industrial complexes; however, the landing could have been much worse. Elita had managed to activate her in-built temporal distortion field at the last moment; her quick thinking had lessened the damage of the full impact, and had prevented them from going into stasis lock.

* * *

“Hey, any of you guys seen Scavenger?” Scrapper, the leader of the Constructicons, asked the rest of his team mates. “He was supposed to meet us here.”

“He probably got himself caught. I did warn him not to venture too close to Autobot territory,” replied Hook, their engineer. “But, did he listen? _No._ ”

Long Haul, their transporter, looked concernedly at his team leader. “Do you think we should go and look for him? It’s too risky for any of us to be out there – especially now.”

Mixmaster, their chemical expert, looked up from his work. “Yeah. They’re really out for our energon.”

“I say we crush them, before they crush us,” Bonecrusher contributed, speaking his thoughts out loud.

“A hundred of ‘them’ to every one of us? I don’t think that’s going to work, Bonecrusher,” Scrapper reasoned.

“We could get Scavenger back, if we formed Devastator,” Mixmaster suggested.

“Sure,” replied Hook, “but we still need Scavenger to combine properly, remember?”

The five of them were standing on the outskirts of Polyhex; a region of Cybertron where Autobots rarely ventured. However, after the broadcast that had been sent out from Central Iacon recently, that would soon all change. The Alliance really seemed to have it in for them.

“Well, we can’t just abandon him out there,” Scrapper replied. “If anything, we need to stick together more than ever.” He looked out towards the distant horizon. Iacon Central was barely visible from here; a tiny dot on the edge of the sky that was a little bigger than all the others. At this distance, each large city complex looked mostly alike. “Come on; let’s get back to base. Maybe we can get some help.”

As Scrapper began to lead the way back, the distant whirring of an engine made him stop in his tracks and look around warily. His four team mates made no sudden moves, but looked concernedly towards their team leader.

“Where’s that coming from?” Long Haul said with apprehension, his voice lowered.

No one answered; they looked back towards the horizon, and were afraid to avert their optics for even a second. They all shared the same thought, yet none dared voice it for fear that, somehow, it would make it true.

*

There had been times during Jazz’s life when he had felt like this, but never had it been as intense, or as incomprehensible, a feeling as it was now. Had he been wrong to question his superior – the very leader of the Autobot army? His long-time friend and fellow soldier? Perhaps he had stepped out of line; perhaps he had said too much, gone too far?

He didn’t know. All he knew was that the events that were scheduled to occur within the next two hours were critical and, wrong or right, he had to make a choice before it was too late; it would be a choice that he would never be able to take back.

_They will always be Decepticons, Jazz. You turn your back for just one minute, and they’ll turn on you._

Jazz exited the grand Command Complex of Iacon Central, then broke into a half-run as he transformed into his vehicle mode – a sleek, blue, white and black Cybetronian hover car. He directed power to his engine and steadily increased speed as he took the shortcuts and sideswiped around corners, heading for the main road that led west. It was still dark, and the stars twinkled brightly down upon the cyber city and its surrounding streets. Few mechs were about at this early hour. Manoeuvring the slick roads at almost top speed he swept past the odd drunken pedestrian, who barely saw him.

Once he was far enough away from Iacon’s main hub, he slowed down a little and considered his options. If he followed the road all the way to its very end, he would find himself right in the heart of Polyhex. This city state had been Decepticon territory for as far back as he could recall; however, with the Alliance’s strong influence and intervention in recent years over most of Cybertron’s affairs, he could no longer be sure of that. If he were to venture into this region, Jazz would be taking his chances in what he might find there now.

But, to Jazz, the alternative was be far worse, and he knew that he would never be able to live with himself if he just let it happen. Any other Autobot in his situation would not have had the nerve to go further than the Iacon border, out of fear of reprimand or even for their own safety. Jazz, however, was different. He did not think twice about such consequences. All that mattered to him was that he completed his objective, and nothing, or no one, could stop him from doing so. This inner strength had always given him the courage and the determination required for his function as a special operative – and now was no exception.

Time seemed to pass quickly, and before he knew it he was approaching the border. His engine whined loudly. He was not too concerned about being detected; in fact, the opposite was true. The road became narrow as he sped along its course, the illuminated pavement on either side emitting a soft blue glow. The multi-level blocks of the inner city had made way to a flatter, less populated area, which then ended abruptly at Iacon’s edge. As he crossed the border connecting the two city states, Jazz did not hesitate or slow down at all, but continued to focus on the road ahead for a good while, following its winding curves and straight runs, until he eventually picked up a familiar signal. He continued on towards it until, finally, it led him all the way to an abandoned depot.

Seeing his speeding vehicle heading straight towards them, five green and purple Decepticons transformed into their vehicle modes, attempting to evade the lone Autobot, but Jazz swung his hover car around hard, sweeping behind them until he came head to head with the small group, his headlights illuminating them brightly. As the five of them transformed back into their robot modes, weapons drawn, Jazz transformed as well, but he did not retrieve his own blaster. He held his hands out to his sides, palms facing forward, in a gesture of surrender.

The leader of the five stepped slowly closer, scanning the Autobot for hidden weapons, and then momentarily looked towards his team mates with uncertainty. “What do you want, Autobot?” he called, weapons directed towards the enemy.

Jazz wasted no time, and got straight to the point. “Scavenger is being held at Autobot headquarters. We’ve got to do something fast, before it’s too late.”

Scrapper looked at him in confusion, then scanned the area searching for other Autobots, just in case he and his team were about to fall into an ambush. He shook his head. “Why – why should we believe you?” he called back, trying to stall for time. Maybe, if they all made a run for it now, they might avoid getting captured.

“Look,” Jazz returned, his voice becoming impatient. “I’m not asking you to believe me. There isn’t a lot of time; if you want to save your friend’s life, you’ve got to do exactly as I tell you.”

Scrapper was silent as he considered the situation, and the possibility that the Autobot may be telling the truth. “What if we were to convert you to scrap right now? Five against one; you wouldn’t stand a chance.” Nervous chuckles came from his team mates behind him, but soon the merriment stopped almost as quickly as it had begun, as Jazz stepped forward suddenly, right into their midst. His expression was one of restrained anger as he faced Scrapper head-on.

“What, you think I’m kidding? You think I’d be risking my own tail pipe right now, coming out here into Decepticon territory, all on my own, just for a little fun?” Jazz then tried to drive his point home. “You don’t believe me, fine; take me if you want, I won’t resist.” He held out his hands, and they could see that he was all but defenceless.

The five Decepticons were in utter disbelief; in all the time they had been online, they had never known any Autobot to act this way, and it was downright unnerving, to say the least. Looking back on this moment, Jazz would later realize that his fearless, single-minded attitude was probably the one thing that had tipped the balance in his favour, had played a huge part in the Decepticons’ realization that what he was saying was true.

One of the other four, Long Haul, finally spoke up behind them, nervousness in his voice. “Let him talk, Scrapper. We got nothing to lose if we just hear him out,” he said.

“Yeah… except Scavenger if we don’t,” Mixmaster added in a low voice.

“And he _is_ alone, just like he says,” Hook reminded them. “There’s no way he’d be able to take us all on - not by himself.”

Jazz waited expectantly for the five of them to arrive at a decision. Then, finally, Scrapper conceded, lowered his weapon. “Alright. So, talk,” he said.

Jazz sighed a small sigh of relief. “Like I said, Scavenger’s in serious trouble. If we don’t get to him within the hour, he’ll be permanently deactivated.”

Sudden shock and confusion threatened to overwhelm Scrapper, who remained speechless for quite a long moment. “Why… why would you want to help us?”

Jazz could sense his confusion, his indecisiveness, and wished that there was something more he could do. “Listen to me,” he started, trying to get them to understand. “It’s a long story, and I don’t have time to tell it right now. You’re all just going to have to trust me,” he said, even as obvious distrust was evident upon each of their faces; after all that had happened between their two factions over the course of vorns, it was understandable.

“Trust you? How do we know you won’t lead us right into a trap?” Bonecrusher said, speaking for all of them.

“Yeah, after that broadcast every sentient robot in the galaxy – and his pet Dinobot – is going to be hunting us down. We’re as good as scrap,” Mixmaster reminded them all grimly.

Jazz understood their concern, and for a moment it seemed to him that he would never get through to them. But then he had an idea. He opened up his chest compartment and disconnected a small relay from near his power core. He carefully handed it to Scrapper, and then closed up his front panel again. “Here. My life is in your hands now,” he said, showing no sign of backing down or changing his mind.

Scrapper looked down at the power relay that had been placed into his open palm. He shook his head in disbelief and stared at Jazz, red optics incredulous beneath the visor he wore. “You won’t stay online long without this.”

Jazz nodded. "That's right, and if that ain't enough to convince you that I'm here to help save your friend's life, then nothing will. If Scavenger is terminated at the hands of the Alliance without being given a fair trial, he's certainly not going to be the only one." He looked back at Scrapper resolutely, determined to get the Constructicon to believe him. "So, are you going to just stand there and continue to waste valuable time, or you going to help me get him out?"


	5. Chapter 5

Scrapper held onto the small relay, staring down at it. The object felt as foreign to him in his hand as golden Electrum. He knew he had to make a decision quickly; one that would either save his team mate’s life, or possibly condemn him to an eternal torment that would be far worse than termination. He knew that, as leader of his gestalt, the responsibility of whatever the outcome from his decision must rest with him alone. Could he trust this Autobot? This Autobot, who was playing a very dangerous game with his own life, as far as any other bot would see it; what could he possibly have to gain by placing his life into their hands? He must have some ulterior motive, Scrapper concluded. But, even so, did it really matter? If what Jazz was saying was true, then he saw no other option but to go along with him. The master designer of the Constructicons finally made his decision, and handed the small device back to Jazz. “Here, take it. If you’re going to be helping us, you’ll need it,” he said simply.

The head of special operations stood, unwavering, as he continued to face the five Decepticons square on. His blue visor hid the seriousness in his optics, though no one there questioned his sincerity at that moment. It had been understood by them all and, now, a necessary level of trust had been established between them. Jazz slowly nodded in acknowledgment after a long moment, and then reached out his hand towards Scrapper’s open palm and picked up his power relay. The combiner team members did not speak another word as they all watched Jazz reopen his chest compartment and carefully restore the small device back where it belonged. When this was done, Jazz looked back towards the five Decepticons. “All right,” he said, and then turned towards the horizon, his gaze fixing upon Iacon’s distant skyline as he began to formulate a rescue strategy. “Iacon’s heavily monitored in all directions, right up to the outer Province and some way beyond the border, but especially in the south and west.” He paused, considering the best options available to them. “Which means, I’m the only one who’ll be able to get him out.” He turned back to Scrapper. “Once I’ve done that, we’re not going to have a lot of time; if we’re even lucky enough to get within proximity of Iacon’s border undetected. After that, the chances of the two of us entering into Polyhex without being pursued by Alliance security patrols is going to be a bit of a crap shoot. Escaping on my own is one thing, but having Scavenger along for the ride is going to slow us down.”

Scrapper nodded in agreement with Jazz’s evaluation of the situation. “That’s true; speed isn’t one of our strong suits.”

“Nor can he dig his way out of this one,” Long Haul remarked. “If we can go and find help, we might be able to–” he continued, but Jazz interjected, shaking his head.

“No, there’s no time for that. It’s going to have to be just us, and now or never.”

“So, what can we do?” Scrapper asked.

Jazz looked at them each in turn, and then, slowly, a small smile appeared on his face, his head tilting expectantly. “Well, who’s up for some demolishing?”

* * *

By the time Jazz had made his way back to Iacon Central, it was morning and the duty cycle had already begun. For one pump-stopping moment, he thought that he might already be too late, but then he noticed the large crowd of Autobots and Neutrals gathered just outside the Command Center. They looked as though they were anticipating some important event, and were yelling and shoving against one another as they demanded that the Decepticon prisoner be transferred for deactivation without delay. It appeared that there was still time, and Jazz checked his chronometer. It was a few minutes past five hundred; the angry mob would surely be causing delays. Scavenger should still be in the high security block, which was not too far away; turning from the Command Complex, Jazz quietly slipped away without being seen, and headed towards sub-sector two, which led to the underground connecting tunnels.

As he moved quickly down through the first darkened passageway, he was relieved that there were no other mechs about. His footfalls echoed all about him, and he got the odd impression that he was being watched, though Jazz knew that this was not possible. The tunnels here were an ancient relic, carved out long ago when Cybertron was still a young planet. They were gloomy and narrow, and had never been upgraded; since the last Great War they were seldom, if ever, used.

Finally Jazz stepped out into the long and narrow corridor that led to Scavenger’s holding cell, after inputting the correct access codes in order to open the heavy bulkhead door that separated the tunnel from the main cell block. He hurried down along the corridor, until he finally reached his destination.

Relief swept through him when he saw that Scavenger was still inside the small holding cell, looking just as he did when Jazz had last seen him yesterday. The energon canister that he had left for him had been emptied, and it now lay discarded on the floor of the cell. Jazz deactivated the cell’s energy bars and stood in front of the Decepticon, watching him intently. “We’re getting you out of here,” he informed him quickly. “Come on, get up,” Jazz told him, unsure of how he would be received, and hoping that time was still mercifully on their side.

Scavenger was watching him also, but then he turned his gaze down towards the floor, remaining motionless.

They didn’t have time for this. “Get up!” he repeated, and then he added in anger, “Unless you want to be permanently deactivated within the next breem or two, you’ve got to come with me right now, you hear?” This time, he didn’t wait for a reply, but instead moved towards the Decepticon. Scavenger tried to avoid him, but he had nowhere to go; he was cornered by the walls of the small holding cell. Jazz ignored his attempts at resistance; instead, he grabbed the prisoner’s hands, deactivated the energy restraints that were still around his wrists, and then freed his lower legs. Then he pulled him up from the seat and forced him towards the cell’s open entrance.

He could tell that Scavenger was in a state of confusion, and knew that in order for this rescue to succeed, he would need his full cooperation. Once they were outside the cell, Jazz paused to hear for the sound of any approaching mechs down the hall, but there were none; it was eerily quiet. He turned back to the Constructicon, who had his hand poised to retrieve his laser pistol in defense, but Jazz stopped him, holding back his hand. “Easy, now,” he said, gently. “I’m not here to hurt you; I just want to help.”

After Jazz’s talk with Scavenger the other day, he had been able to come up with a detailed profile of the Decepticon. He usually did this whenever he encountered any mech he didn’t know, but especially when they were relevant to a mission. That was one of his skills; he was able to analyse and then sum up the inner workings and motivations of an individual, given enough time to study his subject. In this case, he figured that the best way to get Scavenger on side was to tell him what his team mates would be expecting of him. “Alright, listen up,” he said, making sure he had Scavenger’s full attention. “I was able to contact the other Constructicons. They were looking for you.” Jazz watched his response; he gave none, so Jazz continued. “That’s right; I spoke to Scrapper. He’s asked me to help get you out. As a matter of fact, they’re all waiting for you right now, near the outer Province.” Jazz paused, looked back up the corridor to make sure there was no one approaching. Then he resumed talking, though more slowly. “He said to tell you to trust me. He said that if you don’t, he’d make you electro-plate the new camouflaging tower you’ve all been working on, from top to bottom, into a new color.”

No sooner had Jazz said this than the Decepticon’s demeanour suddenly changed. Rather than the quiet, reserved mech that he had been ever since he was taken into custody by the Autobots, Scavenger became more cheerful, even revealing a kind of innocence that Jazz would later find endearing. “He – he said that?” he asked Jazz, his voice anxious yet filled with hope as he thought about Scrapper’s supposed promise. He realized that Jazz could not have possibly known about the construction of their new tower, unless he was telling the truth, and really _had_ spoken to Scrapper.

Jazz nodded, and couldn’t help but smile. Well, that worked like a charm, and Jazz was certainly pleased – so far, so good; but they weren’t out of the woods just yet. “Yep. But there’s no time to talk right now. Just follow me, and do exactly what I tell you.” Then he started back up the corridor, without waiting for Scavenger’s reaction.

“Hey, wait for me!” Scavenger called out, and hurriedly followed after Jazz. Other than the obvious fact that it was a gloomy and isolated, high security cell block, there was something about this place that made Scavenger feel incredibly uneasy, but he couldn’t say exactly what that was. All he knew was that he was more than a little anxious to get out of here as quickly as he possibly could and, if an Autobot was going to help him do that, then so be it.

* * *

Astro had landed the cruiser on a docking platform within one of Alternity City’s vast, cosmopolitan space ports, but he had not moved from his seat at the control platform and, after several minutes had gone by in silence, Rook looked up at him quizzically from his spot on the floor. “Now what?” he asked sardonically.

Astro finally turned to his captive, his gaze steady, arms crossed. He spoke calmly, assertively. “We’re not going anywhere, not until we’ve had a chance to talk.”

The smaller mech looked at him blankly. “Talk? About _what_? I’ve already said everything I need to say.”

“Suit yourself,” the blue mech responded, as calmly as ever, and went back to the display screen in front of him, bringing up a list of all available public terminal points in and around the space port.

More long minutes of silence went by, and Rook became increasingly agitated with each second that passed until, finally, he couldn’t tolerate it any further. “Would you please just tell me what is going _on_?” No answer, so he tried again. “Well, you can’t just stay here! What if Jhiaxus comes looking for us? What if… what if raiders from the Predacon region find us and turn us into–”

“Rook,” Astro interjected. The green Cybertronian looked fearfully at Astro, his wild imaginings beginning to get the better of him. “Rook, would you calm down, please? None of those things are going to happen.”

Rook shook his head in bewilderment. “Is that a promise, I suppose?”

Astro shrugged. “Sure. So long as you help me out.” He paused, and then added, “ _Willingly_.”

Rook considered the absurd proposition. After all, what did he have to lose? He was being held in this space cruiser against his will, without any way of contacting the base for help. Finally, he nodded in resignation. “All right, you win. Let’s talk.” He tried to appear sincere, needed Astro to believe that he was prepared to co-operate, at least for the time being. “I’m listening. Go ahead.”

Astro watched him a long while, studying him, searching for his true intentions. Then he began. “You might not believe what I’m about to tell you, but I think you should hear me out.” Rook waited expectantly, his interest piqued. “But before we get into that, tell me what you know about the Great Devastation.”

The mech appeared to be utterly confounded by the seemingly irrelevant change of topic. “What does the Great Devastation have to do with anything?”

The blue mech leaned forward, held his gaze steady. “Everything.”

Rook nodded his head in an effort to comprehend. “Oh. Alright. What do I know about the Great Devastation?” he repeated. “Hm, well, let’s see… the Great Devastation occurred during the Third Era – or, the Third Age of the Primes, if you prefer–”

“Skip the history lesson,” Astro cut in. “What do _you_ know about it?”

“I’m – I’m sorry, Astro, but you’re just going to have to give me a bit more of a hint here. I have no idea what you’re looking for. I wouldn’t know any more about the Great Devastation than any other mech, if you want to know the truth of it.”

Astro acknowledged him. “Okay. Here’s what _I_ know about the Great Devastation. It was a time of great conflict, not only between the rival factions on our home world, but also between Cybertron and its neighbouring star systems. The Autobots had a losing battle on their hands, and so an accord was struck between the Autobots, under Sentinel Prime, and the Decepticons.” He paused in emphasis, released a long, slow exhalation. “But, as you would be aware, that agreement never went ahead.”

“That’s right,” Rook acknowledged. “The Decepticons fell back on their promise, and the first Great War broke out.”

“Ah, except that the Decepticons never rescinded any promise.” Astro watched him closely, looking for any signs of weakness within the other mech. “Oh, no, no,” he said slowly, in a low voice. “You see, the Decepticons were facing a very real danger of being destroyed – but not from any outside source – oh, no… you see, Rook… it was an internal struggle that threatened to tear the Decepticons apart, from the inside out.”

Rook thought upon these words, and then shrugged. “Well, then, nothing’s really changed, has it? Not that I should care anyway, one way or the other.”

“Let me finish,” Astro rebutted him, then slowly exhaled before he continued. “Many were not aware of this at the time, but the truth is… there have always been those who have secretly despised the leadership, who’ve wanted to mould the Decepticons into something that they never wanted to be. Soon after the accord had been declared one mech, in particular, decided to take matters into his own hands and staged a revolt against Megatron and his loyalists in an attempt to overtake him as leader. Of course, it failed – however, not without cost. As an immediate consequence of that incident, the Autobots withdrew their support entirely, the accord was made void, and… well, you know the rest.”

The smaller mech contemplated this information, remaining silent, slight concern upon his face. Rook was not entirely convinced just yet, but doubt was beginning to form in his mind, which is exactly what Astro wanted. “I always believed it was Megatron who…”

“No. Never forget who it is that records history, Rook,” Astro reminded him.

“But what I still don’t get is…” Rook started, as he tried to understand where all this was going. “What does any of that have to do with what you're doing?” He indicated at the space cruiser around them.

Astro sat back in his chair, arms crossed. “Why don’t you take a guess?”

The mech shrugged, genuinely confused by the whole situation. “If I had any inkling at all, I would tell you. You can be sure of that.” Then he paused, and became curious. “How would you know all about the Great Devastation, anyway? Were you there?”

Astro ignored the question, but instead replaced it with another. “Are you aware of the identity of that mech, Rook? The one who revolted?”

Rook gave him a look that conveyed the obviousness of the answer. “Well, of course. Everybody knows. It was Scorponok. But he was killed during the battle at Darkmount. So what?” When Astro did not answer, he rephrased. “No, wait, don’t tell me; it wasn’t Scorponok?”

Astro gave him a rare smirk. “No, you’re correct. It was Scorponok.”

A pause, and then, “Okay, so… what am I missing?”

“Scorponok was never killed during the battle at Darkmount.”

This seemed to hit Rook like a ton of ore, and he was speechless. Astro gave him all the time he needed to process the new information. “But… that’s not possible,” he said in a low voice, barely audible. He looked up at Astro. “I saw it with my own optical sensors; he was _destroyed_.”

The blue mech shook his head slowly. “No.” He leaned closer towards Rook, wanting to emphasise his next point. “But that’s not what’s important, Rook. What’s important is the choice _you_ made.” For the first time since Astro had taken him away from the base he was accusatory, anger clearly evident in his tone, and Rook, for the first time since he had even met this mech, was afraid of what he was going to do or say next.

“I – I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Rook defended. He did not like where this conversation was headed, nor did he want to be reminded of a time long ago when things had been very different, not only for him, but for them all.

“Don’t you?” Astro continued, his anger not showing any sign of abating. “Let me remind you, then,” he said, and stood up from his chair as Rook, for one fearful moment, recoiled in anticipation of some horrible punishment that was about to be inflicted upon him. But Astro did not approach him; instead, he walked over to the cruiser’s main view screen and looked out. “You were given an opportunity; one opportunity. You could have helped stop much of the turmoil and confusion that was happening then. But instead what did you do?” He paused, awaiting Rook’s response, but all he got was silence. “You could have stopped them, Rook. _You_ could have stopped Jhiaxus, and even Scorponok. When the Decepticons needed you most, you turned your back on them. You’d made your choice, hadn’t you?” He spun around to face Rook, his optical sensors locked on to him like a tractor beam.

Rook didn’t know how to respond. He sat there on the floor, his head hung forward, wanting all this insanity to end. “I did what I had to do.”

Astro ignored his distress, as if he were enjoying seeing the other mech in such torment. However, this needed to be done and, sometimes, the only way to be kind was to appear cruel. “Admit it, Rook; you failed us, didn’t you? You turned to Jhiaxus for protection, when Megatron had already placed his trust in you.” Astro said these words spitefully, almost vindictively. He moved closer to the smaller mech, who was beginning to lose control of his emotional state.

“Stop! I don’t have to listen to this!” he was saying, but Astro reached down and pulled his hands away, made him look into his optics.

“You acted like a coward… didn’t you? You could have helped us, Rook. You could have proven yourself worthy of the Decepticon name, acted with pride, and _honour_!” Astro said this last word forcibly, raising his voice. Rook tried to pull away from his grip, but he was too weak. “But you didn’t, did you? _Answer me!_ ”

Visibly shaken by this sudden confrontation, Rook was too afraid to speak. Eventually, after what felt like an eternity, Astro released his hold on him, turned away and took a seat in the captain's chair once again, his attention back to the display screen.

* * *

Jazz led the way past the bulkhead door, using high clearance access codes, and then on through the tunnels, moving as quickly as he could. He remained focused on his goal, and on full alert, not speaking a word unless it was necessary. Eventually, the two of them reached the entrance that led into the last tunnel directly ahead of them and then onto the network of roads that encompassed sub-sector two; however, Jazz did not take this route. There was commotion up ahead in the main tunnel, and he knew that an Autobot security team was on its way down and would be here any minute now. He motioned for Scavenger to remain quiet and to stay close, then quickly moved down a side tunnel that veered off to the right. This passageway was narrower and darker than any of the others, and eventually terminated at North-Central Iacon.

By the time the security team arrived at the tunnel intersection where the unlikely pair had been standing only a minute before, the two of them were nowhere to be seen. They just kept moving, and did not slow or turn back for even a second until they’d reached the end of the passage. Here, Jazz was confronted by a sealed exit – a split door consisting of two separate panels that met diagonally in the middle – and he stopped to examine it. If he used the access code to open the door they could be traced, as he knew they surely would be once the security team was alerted to the Decepticon’s disappearance. The only other way was to force it open. Jazz set to work, skilfully removing the control panel that covered the input pad, and then carefully disconnected some wiring. The pad went dead, as its power was cut. “There, that ought to do it.”

Scavenger watched him with keen interest, as the Autobot proceeded to rewire the auxiliary data port beside the input pad. He used a terminal probe from his right hand to establish a new connection, and then reprogrammed the door for manual override. Finally, he turned back towards Scavenger. “I’m going to need your help here,” he said, and then indicated for him to grab hold of one of the door panels, while he grasped the other. Scavenger did as he was instructed, and they simultaneously forced the two panels apart. They gave way easily, and Jazz noted that the Decepticon was considerably stronger than he was.

On the other side of the door the tunnel became noticeably larger as it turned into a modern, undercover passage, its walls and ceiling lined with a smooth metallic finish and circular lights arranged at regular intervals. “This passageway extends all the way through North Central. Follow me, and stay close,” he told Scavenger, and then transformed into his vehicle mode. The Decepticon did the same. While his alternate mode was considerably slower than the Autobot’s, it was faster than being in robot mode; Jazz would just have to reduce his speed to ensure that Scavenger could keep up with him.

They set off down the passageway, and Jazz adjusted his speed to match. They weren’t moving nearly as fast as he would have liked, but it would have to do; he intended for them to take the least used route in order to avoid any unnecessary encounters. “Don’t stop for anyone, and don’t look back,” he advised the Constructicon.

Jazz moved in and out of various interconnecting passages, in an effort to steer clear of oncoming traffic or to avoid being seen. This wasn’t entirely possible, but he did his best and, as they approached the undercover exit, emerging from the relative safety of the enclosed passageways out onto the busy streets of North Central, he realized with relief that they had at least managed to get this far more or less undetected.

“Uh oh,” Jazz said in a low voice, as he stopped momentarily to survey their surrounds. They were still in their vehicle modes.

“‘Uh oh’?” Scavenger asked nervously. “What does that mean, ‘uh oh’?”

“What that means is, security has been alerted and all available Autobots and Neutrals are searching for you as we speak,” Jazz informed him. “I just received the broadcast.” He found a road nearby that was momentarily empty of any traffic, and started heading towards it. “Come on, the longer we stand around here, the better your chances of getting caught.” As the two of them kept to the road that led out towards the north-west of the city state, Jazz decided he would need to employ a diversionary tactic in order to misdirect the Alliance away from their escape route.

He established a com link to Autobot headquarters and transmitted a message. “This is Jazz. Let me speak to whoever’s in charge of the search teams.”

After a few moments, Prowl answered. “Do you have any information on the prisoner’s location?” he asked, and it almost sounded accusatory. Jazz noted an unusual coldness in Prowl’s voice, and suspected that the disagreement in the control room the other day might have had something to do with it.

“As a matter of fact, I do. I’ve picked up a Decepticon signature moving east. Transmitting the co-ordinates to you now,” Jazz said, and waited for a response.

“Co-ordinates received. Prowl out–” The chief of security was about to disconnect the link, but then Jazz stopped him.

“Just a klik – Prowl?” he said, trying to sound as convincing as possible.

There was a long pause before Prowl spoke again. He sounded reluctant, distant. “What is it, Jazz?”

“Listen… I just wanted to apologize for the other day. I was out of line.” He spoke these words carefully. Every moment counted towards the success of the rescue as he stalled for time; even if it meant having to say some things he didn’t quite mean.

Prowl was unsure how to respond to him. Finally he said, “I’m glad you’ve come to your senses, Jazz. Prowl out.” The link was disconnected, and that was the end of that – at least as far as Prowl was concerned, Jazz thought.

He hoped that he had bought the two of them enough time to arrive safely at the designated meeting point. If his message to Prowl had been successful, the security teams would now be diverting most of their search efforts to the co-ordinates he had just offered them – which would lead them to an underground materials storage facility. It would hopefully give Jazz enough time to ensure that Scavenger was reunited with his team mates, by which time the search team would realize that the Decepticon they were pursuing was long gone, presumably well on his way east. Which suited Jazz just fine.

As they both proceeded towards the west, the road opened up into a fast lane. Occasionally, an Autobot or two would drive up close behind them and Jazz would prepare to take some drastic action in order to shake them, but then he’d be relieved to find that they simply wanted to overtake, and so he’d let them pass without protest. At the speeds they were currently doing, he couldn’t blame them.

Approaching their destination, which was now only two hundred or so mechano-meters away, a white hover vehicle pulled up alongside them, and ordered them to stop.

Jazz did as instructed, and Scavenger pulled up behind him. The white vehicle transformed into a robot, and Jazz saw that it was a Neutral, his golden emblem emblazoned proudly across the right side of his chest, just below his shoulder. He must have been patrolling the area when he received the same broadcast that Jazz had and, upon seeing the Decepticon, must have put two and two together. Jazz transformed into his robot mode.

“ _You_ ,” the Neutral started, pointing towards the green and purple power shovel behind Jazz, and then moved his wrist up towards his faceplate in order to activate his com link.

Jazz shook his head. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

The security mech stopped, then slowly lowered his arm as he looked back at the Autobot, a puzzled expression on his face.

“If you activate your com link,” Jazz began to explain, and then retrieved his photon rifle faster than the Neutral could react, pointing it to the middle of the mech’s chest. “I’m just going to have to blast you a new armour plating.” That was the best he could think of in the moment, but it would have to do; Jazz did not have time to negotiate.

The Neutral continued to stare at the Autobot, and then slowly looked down at the weapon pointed towards him. It was the last thing he saw before his optical sensors overloaded with the sudden surge of a photon blast. The force of the weapon’s discharge at such a close range hurled him to the ground. Jazz looked over towards Scavenger, who hadn’t made a move. “At least I know my new weapon upgrade’s effective.” He retracted his rifle and transformed back into his vehicle mode. “Come on, we’re almost there,” he said, and the two of them continued down the road once more, heading west. There was no doubt in Jazz’s mind that the Neutral would request backup as soon as he had sufficiently recovered from the rifle blast, but at least he had been slowed down by a few crucial minutes.

* * *

Astro remained seated in the captain's chair for a long time, continuing to ignore Rook completely as if he were hardly there. He had not left the cruiser, nor had he made any sort of attempt to depart from the space port and, after several breems, Rook had recovered from the initial shock of their confrontation. He had nothing left to do now but think about what had been said; the buried memories that had been purposely hidden away in his unconscious for so long vied for his attention, threatening to undermine his mental stability as they demanded to be acknowledged.

Rook held his head in his hands, caught up in a bitter inner conflict that had suddenly, and unexpectedly, been forced upon his consciousness. He had never asked for this, only longed to return to the safety and security of his place under Jhiaxus, in servitude to the High Commander. He had nothing else to live for.

After a long time had passed, Rook spoke, breaking the silence. “I was given an ultimatum. I – they would have terminated me,” he said in a low voice. Astro finally looked at him, hands clasped together as he sat back in his chair. He remained silent, allowing the other to continue speaking. Rook inhaled deeply, looked down at the floor. “Alright, I was a coward. Afraid. Is that what you want to hear?”

“Keep talking,” Astro said calmly, his anger now dissipated.

“What – what more can I tell you?” Rook looked up at him suddenly, fear in his optics. “You brought me here to punish me, is that it?”

Astro shook his head. “No, Rook. I’m not going to punish you.”

“Then, why? Why are you doing this to me?” He was almost pleading. “I – I can’t help you. You must understand, that I – have nothing… nowhere else to go. The base is where I belong,” he added softly, almost regretfully.

“That’s not true. That’s why I brought you here,” Astro responded calmly, wanting to reassure the former Decepticon.

Rook shook his head in confusion, his thoughts in a knot of turmoil. “I don’t understand.” Anger was now also beginning to surface.

Astro remained deep in thought for a long moment, before he finally gave him a reply. “Do you believe in second chances?”

“Second chances,” the green mech repeated. “Second–” He shook his head in bewilderment. His thoughts began to explore those two words, and they sounded alien to him. Second chances? No, not for him; there was no such thing as second chances, not where he had come from. “No,” he said, finally.

“Then, what is it that you believe in?”

Why all these questions, questions, questions? Rook had no answers, none that seemed to satisfy Astro, at the very least. “I believe in…” he began, frustrated, but then realized that he really didn’t know what he believed in. Perhaps, he believed in nothing at all.

“Do you even know what you serve – _why_ you serve?” Astro interjected. No response. “Come on, Rook. You must know why you serve. Who are you?”

That question again. Rook stood and stepped towards the larger mech, his anger now stirred. “No, you listen! You, whoever the hell you think you are. This isn’t a joke! Now, either you tell me exactly what it is you want from me – or you let me go, right _now_!” Rook was leaning over the console, his face in Astro’s.

The blue mech met his gaze, but was unperturbed by Rook’s most recent tirade. Rather, he gave him a knowing smile – albeit a small one. Then, suddenly, Rook retrieved his weapon, held it out in front of him, the tip of the barrel almost touching Astro’s nose tip.

Astro started to get up from his seat but Rook stopped him, appearing to have taken control of the situation. “Now, open the hatch, _”_ he demanded, but Astro remained motionless. “I said, _open the hatch_ –”

But no sooner had Rook finished making his demand than his captor, in one swift move, grabbed hold of his wrist and forced the weapon aside, as he stood up to his full height. “You have it in you, Rook,” he stated, determinedly. “Don’t let them take away who you are.” Rook was incredulous, and tried to move away from him, but it was no use; his grip was too strong. Astro ignored his attempts, and continued talking. “Let… me… give… you,” he said, slowly emphasizing every word, “ _that second chance_.”

The tension within Rook suddenly evaporated, escaping from his system just like hot jet exhaust. Something within him had finally broken; Astro could see it in his optics.

Critical moments passed, and then Rook was released, free to recompose himself. Astro watched him and then, slowly, he reached across to a button on the control panel behind him. The door of the cruiser suddenly slid open behind Rook.

“You’re free to go, if you wish. Or… you can start over,” Astro informed him. “It’s your choice.”

Rook remained still, struggling with long-held thoughts and emotions that wanted him to finally recognize their truth, his head pounding with the realization that, should he find the courage, and the strength, he could take this opportunity that was being offered to him, right now, and rectify something within him – something that he had not been able to shake from his conscience ever since he had turned away from those who had given him their trust so very long ago. Slowly he retracted his weapon, and then turned towards the open hatch, walked towards it. He was only one step away from leaving the cruiser and returning to the base that had been his home for over two vorns. But he hesitated, and turned back towards Astro, who made no attempt to stop him. Finally, he reached his hand towards the access panel by the doorway, and pressed a button. The hatch sealed closed.

He inhaled deeply, and then slowly nodded his head in acquiescence. “Very well,” he said, quietly. “I would like to start over.”

* * *

“Hey, look – here they come now!” Long Haul alerted the others as he pointed towards the nearby road.

For a little while, Scrapper and the rest of his Constructicons had begun to lose hope for the successful rescue of their team mate. For one thing, an hour had already passed since they had watched Jazz head into Iacon by himself, and the odds were already highly stacked against them, whichever way they looked at the situation. Even if Jazz had reached Scavenger in time, how would the both of them be able to safely make their way back through Iacon?

Scrapper was just about to give up and head back to Polyhex; the longer they waited around out here the more chance that they, themselves, would be captured as well. Thankfully, however, he did not have to make that decision as he saw the Autobot appear around the corner in the distance. Scavenger was following closely behind.

“Well, I’ll be,” Hook began, pleasantly surprised.

But as they continued watching they saw Jazz suddenly transform back into robot mode, just as he was about to swerve off the road. Something, or someone, was firing at him, the shots narrowly missing the Autobot’s head as he ducked for cover behind a railing. This was followed by several more blasts being fired towards him, while Scavenger, who had also transformed back into his robot mode, was firing his laser pistol back towards unseen assailants.

While Scrapper watched, a group of mechs revealed themselves as they appeared around the corner. It was a security team consisting of both Autobots and Neutrals – seven bots of them in all. But that wasn’t the only problem; there were several flight capable Autobots also approaching in the sky above them. Scrapper thought that they looked like the Aerialbots.

Nearby, Jazz was shouting over the noise of fire blasts and the angry demands of their pursuers, telling them to stop. “Scavenger, your team mates are just beyond this road!” he informed the Constructicon, who had just joined him behind the railing. Jazz indicated in the direction across the road, towards the designated meeting place. “You’ve got to make a run for it. I’ll cover you as best I can.”

Scavenger hesitated, looking towards the security team that was starting to close in on their position. He turned back towards Jazz, but the Autobot was already returning fire blasts at the security bots in an effort to stop their advance. “Go, now!” he ordered the Decepticon, and so Scavenger did as he was instructed. He burst into a sudden run, clearing the railing and sprinting across the road as fast as he could whilst trying to avoid enemy fire. Though he had been unbearably slow in alt mode earlier, he was surprisingly fast on his feet. Jazz watched him go as he adjusted his full-spectrum beacon to create a visual distraction against the oncoming assailants, effectively blinding them. It was only a temporary measure, but it would be enough to slow them right down during these decisive moments, before their optics recovered.

Jazz did the best he could to ensure Scavenger’s safe passage across the last stretch of road, and it was just enough. At the last second, moments before he was reunited with his team, Scavenger was hit by a blast. He lost his footing and hit the ground, as shots continued to fly around him in all directions. As he struggled to get back up he saw his team mates finally reaching for him, helping him up; their own weapons now actively returning fire upon the enemy team. Meanwhile, the Aerialbots were circling overhead ever closer, and had started taking shots at them from the air in an attempt to stop them in their tracks.

Scrapper wasted no time; he knew what needed to be done. “Are you able to combine?” he asked above the sounds of laser fire.

Scavenger nodded in the affirmative, and then Scrapper gave his team the order to form Devastator.

*

There was a saying on Cybertron; _you are always greater than the sum of your parts_ , and this had certainly come to mind as Jazz watched the six reunited Constructicons merge into their combiner form.

Devastator loomed above the retreating Autobots and Neutrals, who had momentarily stopped shooting at the Decepticons as they watched the awesome transformation take place before their optics.

The powerful super-robot easily swept aside the security bots with its arms, fists clenched, making short work of them. The mechs who had arrived on the scene shortly after them now sought cover, awaiting new orders and watching the large green robot as it demolished railings and other low-lying constructions on its slow rampage down the road.

Watching the unfolding scene from behind his railing, Jazz had been all but forgotten by the security bots; if they had been actively pursuing him before, they were leaving him well enough alone now as they turned their complete attention towards the new Decepticon threat. It provided him with the perfect opportunity to quietly slip away, and he dropped down into an underpass, disappearing from sight.

A few moments later Prowl arrived at the scene, accompanied by Optimus and Ironhide. As they transformed from their vehicle modes and back into robots, they stared at the super-robot in disbelief. A very long time had passed since any of them had witnessed the Decepticons pull a stunt like this one.

“We can’t let them get away, Prime!” Ironhide said, imploring the Autobot leader to give the order.

Optimus kept his optics on Devastator, observing the combiner’s current course as he successfully cleared a path in front of him, laying to waste anything that might get in his way. “He’s heading west, towards Polyhex,” he determined, and activated his com link. “Aerialbots,” he said over the link, “are you able to stop Devastator?”

Silverbolt, the leader, replied over the link. “Sure, those Decepticons are as good as scrapmetal,” he said with confidence. Even as the link disconnected, the three Autobots watched as the five Aerialbots began to form Superion, their own combiner robot, in mid-air.

After the formation was complete, Superion descended to the ground and took his position in front of Devastator, blocking his path. It looked as though the red, blue and white nemesis was more than eager for a fight, poised for action, both fists clenched and ready to deliver a hammering to his opponent. As he lunged forward without much warning, Devastator reached out his arms to grab hold of the Autobot gestalt as it charged towards him, and they were locked in close combat, strength pitted against strength.

Any smaller mechs remaining in the area soon scrambled to get out of the way as the two titans fought against one another, the road surface beneath them reverberating with the impact of giant feet as the rivals clashed.

Devastator was markedly taller than Superion and his strength was unmatched, although his reaction time was slower. Despite this, it wasn’t long before he managed to overpower the Aerialbot team, as they were slammed into the wall of a factory compound, the metallic exterior crumpling with the enormous force of the impact. Devastator clenched his right fist and drove it into the wall, though it missed Superion’s head by a fair margin as his opponent moved out of the way.

Superion fought to regain his balance but the Constructicon gestalt had already grabbed onto him, preventing the giant robot from standing upright. Superion kicked at him in an attempt to force Devastator to release his grip, and it worked as Devastator fell backwards onto the road.

As the two super-sized robots proceeded to pick themselves up from the ground, Devastator turned westward along the road and started heading towards a bridge nearby. As he stepped onto it Superion approached from behind, threatening to stop him from crossing it. Devastator turned towards Superion as he was pulled back, a large white hand on his shoulder. The Aerialbot team attempted to throw a punch at Devastator’s head, but the green and purple robot closed his hands around the fist. Now, with a firm grip around Superion’s wrist, he pulled back hard and then released his grip, essentially yanking his opponent forward, and Superion was thrown over the bridge’s railing, head first.

While this move had slowed down the Aerialbots’ attack, it did not stop them entirely. With the Aerialbot team in freefall and the ground rapidly coming up to meet them, they had no time to engage their flight engines as Superion – he would have impacted the ground first, due to his large size. Instead, the gestalt team un-combined in mid-air and thereby managed to avoid crashing down into the busy road below.

Each Aerialbot engaged their individual flight capabilities and flew back up towards the bridge, in pursuit of Devastator.

By the time they resumed their positions against the Decepticon combiner team, this time individually from the air, they noticed that Devastator was already on the other side of the bridge, one arm raised in mid-air and about to slam down a large fist upon its deck. They opened fire upon him, but it was no use; their individual weapons were useless against the super-sized Decepticon. Neither did they have enough time to recombine as they watched the bridge collapse under the strength of the devastating impact, which would essentially block all ground vehicles from reaching the Decepticons along this route.

For the Constructicons, the flight capable Aerialbots still remained their most immediate problem. Directly behind them, Polyhex spread out into the distance. They knew its layout better than anyone, and now all they had to do was make it safely to the nearest access point, which would then lead them down into the vast system of tunnels that made up part of the city state’s complex multi-layered underground.

Before the Aerialbots could attempt to come together to form a second Superion, Devastator aimed his plasma beam rifle and unleashed a searing hot stream of electro-photons upon the Autobots in the air.

Silverbolt and Skydive narrowly avoided a direct hit by the plasma stream; however, Air Raid and Slingshot were not so lucky. They spiralled out of control, mid-flight, smoke expelling from their jet engines.

Silverbolt hesitated, deciding whether he and the remainder of his able-bodied team mates should continue with their assault upon Devastator or whether he should call a retreat. Without Air Raid and Slingshot to combine, they would be more or less useless against the giant robot. Another searing plasma beam swept across the sky towards him, and he had to take evasive manoeuvres to avoid getting hit by the blast. Skydive and Fireflight, still in the air beside him, did the same.

He watched as Air Raid and Slingshot landed on the ground below them, and gave the order to his two remaining wing mates to withdraw from the air.

Silverbolt and his Aerialbots may have lost this battle against Devastator, but it had only strengthened his resolve; he vowed that next time they would be better prepared, and that the Decepticons would not get away so easily.

* * *

Weakened, though not defeated, Elita One took stock of their situation and realized with displeasure that their crash landing was one huge setback that they couldn’t afford. Not only had she just placed her entire crew in immediate danger, but they were now at the mercy of whatever marauding party could get to them first – the cruiser would most likely be boarded, searched, stripped down for parts, their last remaining resources stolen and, worst of all, her crew would be taken hostage to end up as trophies in some mad mech’s underground torture chamber.

She was certainly not unaware of Alternity City’s notorious reputation for harbouring some of the most feared criminals in the Gamma Sector, nor was she naïve when it came to understanding her own limitations, as well as her crew’s. Despite this, it was because of her that they were now stranded here, and so it was her responsibility to help get them all to safety, even if it meant that she had to abandon the cruiser.

“Chromia,” she whispered hoarsely, struggling to make her way across the floor of the ship on her knees and elbows towards her second-in-command. She coughed, sputtering, her cooling systems over-working in an attempt to counteract the effects of the sudden surge of power that she had expended only a few seconds ago. “Chromia?” She shook the blue femme, who lay peacefully still on the floor near the main view screen. “Chromia?” she repeated. The femme stirred, moaned quietly in a state of semi-consciousness. “Chromia, wake up,” she coaxed, hopeful.

Almost a minute later, and Chromia was fully alert. She looked around, the signs of obvious damage to the _Avenger_ bringing back the memory of the crash. “Elita? What happened?” she asked, moving her hand up to touch her head.

“We were attacked. Come on; help me with the others. We’ve got to get out of here, fast,” her captain informed her matter-of-factly, her feelings of guilt sequestered to some hidden part of her consciousness. She moved away from Chromia in search of Firestar and Moonracer, satisfied that the blue femme had not suffered any major injuries.

Chromia slowly sat up and watched her go, then checked her internal self-repair systems. Somehow, she had avoided the worst of the impact; whatever damage she had sustained had been minor, and would be fully repaired within the hour. Shakily, steadying herself against the cruiser’s support beam, she carefully stood up and shook her head in an attempt to clear the slight buzzing from her right audio sensor. Glancing around, she cautiously headed towards her console, hoping that the ship’s computer was still online. It was, but the monitor display was intermittent. Her fingers swept over the controls, attempting to bring up a display of the ship’s condition. The image showed that the cruiser had crashed, nose-first, into the side of what looked to be a communications tower located in a far north district of Binaltech, Alternity City’s densely industrialized capital city where many highly sought-after and emerging technologies could be found. “Great,” she whispered to herself, giving voice to her thoughts. She entered a new command and the monitor flickered to a different read-out. “We’ve lost… two of our engines… the shield emitter is virtually non-existent.” She sighed, and then continued reading out loud. “Our communications array is down… the hull has sustained a huge fracture–”

“None of that matters now,” Elita called out to her, holding Firestar steady as she helped her into a chair.

Chromia looked across at them and then headed over to Moonracer, who lay slumped over the terminal at her station.

“’Racer?” she prompted, and then gently moved Moonracer's frame until she was seated back in her chair, her head tilted upwards. Her optics were darkened, indicating that she was off-line. “’Racer?” Chromia tried again, gently. She looked back towards Firestar, who was steadily recovering from her own injuries. “’Star?”

The red colored femme glanced over and started to get up from her seat, reassuring Elita that she was all right. Chromia moved aside as she approached, allowing her to check Moonracer’s vital signs. After a few long seconds she sighed with relief, looked at Chromia. “She’ll be all right, Chrome. Give her system time to adjust; she should be awake in a few breems.”

Chromia, relieved, thanked her and the two of them walked back towards their captain.

Still overwhelmed by the sudden turn of events Firestar looked around at the cruiser, taking in the damage it had sustained. “It’s going to take us at least several weeks to repair the worst of it, provided we even have the necessary parts to rebuild.”

Elita One shook her head – she had other plans. “We can’t stay here. Chromia, salvage anything you can, including any power cells, tools and equipment. Firestar, I need you to backup all the ship’s data, as soon as you can. Then destroy anything left behind that has a Cybertronian signature. Including the on-board computer,” she ordered, ignoring their looks of surprise. “As soon as Moonracer is awake, we’re leaving,” she added.

“But, Elita–” Firestar started in protest, but Elita One stopped her.

“I don’t want to hear it,” she said, and then headed towards the command platform, turning away from them. “Please, just do what I ask.”

* * *

Sideswipe hurried out onto the streets of south Iacon as soon as his shift was over; there were only so many coils he could look at in one day before he would go insane. The truth was he had other things on his mind today, his curiosity fuelled by a rumour he had overheard at the factory, and he could hardly wait to find out more about it.

An Autobot who he didn’t recognize was walking in front of him and he broke into a sprint to catch up, tapping him on the shoulder. “Hey!”

The bot turned around, startled, his hands raised in the air in a gesture of surrender. “You don’t want to hurt me,” he blurted, startled by the taller, red and black Autobot. “Please, I don’t have any credits–”

Sideswipe stepped away from him, not wanting to frighten him. He looked like a new cadet. “Relax,” he said, “I’m not going to rough you up, don’t worry. I just wanted to ask you a few questions, that’s all.”

The mech looked at him warily, and then quickly glanced up and down the street. He lowered his hands in relief. “Look,” he said, “I don’t know anything, okay? Just leave me alone.”

“Come on, help me out here. What are you so afraid of, anyway?” Sideswipe asked him.

The bot began to turn around and slowly walk away, but Sideswipe moved in front of him, blocking his path. “You’re new, aren’t you?” The bot looked at him, confused, so he elaborated. “A new recruit, you know – with the Autobot-Neutral Alliance?”

The bot’s expression changed to one of recognition, and he nodded warily. “Yeah, well, what’s it to you?”

Sideswipe shrugged. “Just curious. Say, uh, I was just wondering if you knew anything about a recent attack around these parts?”

“An attack?” The bot stopped to think, and then realization hit him. “Oh, yeah. I don’t know much about it, though. Sorry but I can’t really help you,” he replied, and then tried to walk around the larger mech in an effort to continue on his way. Sideswipe remained an obstruction in his path, and the bot grew increasingly annoyed. “May I pass, please?”

Sideswipe smirked. “Not until you tell me everything you know,” he threatened, his arms crossed in front of his chest. He tried to look as intimidating as possible, though without appearing too frightful. This wasn’t the first time Sideswipe had coerced new cadets into doing things for him, and most probably would not be the last.

The bot sighed and gave up. “You are intolerable, you know that?”

“Thank you; it’s nice to meet you, too,” Sideswipe replied, tongue-in-cheek. “Now, tell me about that attack,” he prodded.

“Well, I only know what I heard from others.” He paused, all the while glancing frequently about, as if he were afraid that someone might be watching them. His voice dropped in volume a notch or two. “I don’t know… some Decepticon attacked one of the Protectobots… left him near deactivated. I heard he’s in bad shape, might not survive.”

Sideswipe watched him carefully, listening to every word. “And?” he said.

“And, nothing,” the bot replied, shrugging. “Look, that’s all I know, okay? I swear.”

Sideswipe was about to let him go, but then decided to try one more time. “Is there anything else? Anything at all that you can tell me?” he prompted.

The bot shook his head again. “No–” Then he stopped, tilted his head in thought as if he had just recalled a minor detail that may or may not be relevant. “Well, there was one thing.” But then he reconsidered, shrugged, “Eh, it’s probably nothing,” he said.

Sideswipe uncrossed his arms. “No, tell me,” he cut in, “What is it?”

The bot looked around again and then moved closer to Sideswipe, lowering his voice further. “Promise me you won’t tell _anyone_ I told you?” he asked, looking worried.

“Sure, I promise. What is it?” the red and black Autobot reassured him, growing impatient.

“Well, I overheard some bots talking, and… don’t quote me on this or anything, but they said that Autobot parts are starting to turn up in weird places now… they said that that’s why the Protectobot was attacked.”

Sideswipe shook his head in confusion. “Wait – Autobot parts? What do you mean – what parts?”

“You know – _parts_ ,” he emphasised, waving his hands to indicate their own bodies. “Parts!” The bot’s tone sounded frustrated, as if Sideswipe should have already known what he had meant by it.

Sideswipe suddenly drew back. “Oh – you mean–?” he said, looking down at his own frame.

“ _Yes_! Yes, that’s exactly what I mean!” The bot appeared frightened – terrified, in fact. As if he may very well be the next unlucky victim. He tried to move away again but Sideswipe stopped him.

“Wait,” he said, pausing to think. “So, what… I mean – who’s behind all this?”

The bot shrugged. “The Decepticons, probably.” He waited for Sideswipe to assimilate that information, and then spoke again. “Can I go now?” Sideswipe did not respond, but instead allowed the bot to push past him as he stood there deep in thought. He watched the cadet hurry off down the road until he had disappeared completely around a corner.

Sideswipe started down along the street, unhurriedly. The conversation with the bot had placed him into a particular frame of mind – one that, if allowed to follow its course, would end up leading him into unforeseen territory.

He watched the skyline bask in a gentle, pink glow as Cybertron’s star dropped gradually below the horizon. When Sideswipe rounded a corner he didn’t notice, at first, the two mechs who were talking near the entranceway to a sub-level access point. He stopped short and, remaining unnoticed, quickly ducked back behind the corner. Curious, he boosted his audio receptors to amplify the signal until he could hear them quite clearly.

He could tell by the way they spoke that they were Neutrals; he had observed them for long enough now to be able to pick out the distinct sounds of their voices and their particular, though barely discernible, dialect. They appeared to be speaking casually, and every so often one of them would laugh at something the other had said.

“…I hope I get a weapons upgrade,” one was saying. “How do they expect us to do our jobs with these standard issue toys?”

“You know they can’t rush things,” said the other. “Just remember what Unit four-oh-two told us.”

Unit four-oh-two? Sideswipe thought, perplexed. What the frag did that mean? He continued listening.

“Yeah, yeah, I remember. If it were up to me, though, we’d already be in command,” the first Neutral said derisively.

The second one snorted in amusement. “You’re so full of hot air you’d put Sentinel to shame, you know that?”

There was silence for a time and Sideswipe thought he’d heard enough, but as he started to step away the first Neutral spoke again. “Hey, what time’s the delivery? We’ve been waiting here too long already.”

“Should be here any minute,” the second one replied, and then silence fell between them again. Almost half a minute went by before Sideswipe heard the sound of a vehicle approaching from the sub-level transit route. “See, told you,” the Neutral said, as he confirmed the arrival of their freight.

The two Neutrals waited until the vehicle had pulled up to their access point, and then the second mech said, almost as an after thought, “Come on; let’s get this stuff back to Antihex before any slagger sees us.”

Sideswipe waited quietly until the two Neutrals had disappeared down the transit route, then slowly stepped out and stood in front of the access point where they had been talking only moments before.

He looked around, hesitating, unsure of his next move. He could follow them, sure, find out what these Neutrals were up to, but that would mean that he might eventually have to confront the truth.

Watching the Autobot-Neutral Alliance’s slow, but certain, rise to power after all these years had started to take its toll on him, but it was time now for him to move forward. Even if for no other reason than he might finally learn what had become of his brother.

A few more seconds passed and then Sideswipe stepped through onto the sub-level transit route, not looking back.


	6. Chapter 6

The chief Autobot medic stared up at the exterior of the large, imposing building that housed the shrines of Autobots who had long since departed this physical plane. Situated near the Decagon, it was not a place he liked to visit too often; the memories it triggered of the Great War and all those who had valiantly, though tragically, lost their lives were sometimes more than he could bear.

However, this particular day was different. Ratchet focused his thoughts upon a single purpose, and slowly walked up the steps that led into the entrance hall of the Autobot Mausoleum. The entire foyer with its high ceiling basked in a soft, golden incandescence, illuminating the flat metallic displays adorning the walls, which were meticulously lined up along each side. The images depicted various highlights of the past Ages; the Autobot Matrix of Leadership being passed to Optimus, the monumental confrontation at Kaon that had led to the end of the Great War, the rebuilding of Iacon after the Great Devastation. All iconic moments in Cybertron’s history – moments that Ratchet would rather forget.

He input his access code and the large double doors slid open, allowing him to enter the final resting place of fellow Autobots who had passed. The chamber was eerily quiet, enveloped in semi-darkness, and Ratchet activated the lights. Immediately, a harsh brightness flooded the interior space and the repair specialist imagined that he sensed the sparks of the deceased Autobots stirring suddenly at his intrusion, waking them from their eternal slumber. Of course, he did not believe in stories of ghosts, regardless of rumours the younger cadets liked to spread around, and he quickly banished the thought.

He slowly walked down one side of the chamber, along a row of crypts, and read the name on each plaque as he passed by them. Many of these Autobots had been close to him, and his spark pulsed in regret as he remembered their time amongst the living. He had almost reached the other end of the mausoleum, when he finally stopped.

He stood in front of a large statue; it stood out from the rest as it had no crypt behind it, unlike all the others.

“Wheeljack, old friend,” he said softly. Feelings of sadness flooded through his circuitry, and he was unable to stop the sudden influx of emotions that threatened to engulf him. But then after a few moments they passed, and were replaced by memories of the Great War.

He was taken back to a moment in time that remained ever vivid in his mind; a memory that he had often replayed over and over.

He had been working alongside Wheeljack in his workshop, analysing the nano-sized particles of a foreign agent extracted from one of the many victims that had succumbed to what had been dubbed the Dark Plague.

The sample was encased in a high security containment unit, and had been placed under a microscope. Wheeljack had shaken his head in disbelief. “The advanced technology in this… I’ve never seen anything like it,” he had said, leaning over the sample. “It’s intelligent, like a virus that’s evolving and adapting at a rate faster than anything I’ve ever seen before.” He had continued to study the sample with intense focus, the particles attempting to escape their prison whilst he observed them. Finally he had stepped away, a sudden thought entering his head. “Ratch, would you make me a promise?”

“Hm?” the medic had replied, somewhat sceptical. He had known Wheeljack since the beginning of the Golden Age, and well enough to know that his promises usually turned out to be nothing more than requests to help him test out some newly constructed device he had recently designed.

“If this virus takes me, promise me that you’ll safeguard my research data, and that you’ll continue looking until you’ve found some answers?”

Ratchet had been taken aback by his friend’s sombre request, had rebuked him for his pessimism. “It’s not going to take you, and I won’t make any such promise.”

Wheeljack had ignored his refusal to accept the possibility that either of them might yet become victims of the Plague. “We’re the only chance the Autobots have to find a cure, Ratch. If I’m gone, you’ll be their only hope. Promise me you’ll do that one thing for me, please?” he had said, a solemn conviction and determination in his voice, and Ratchet, begrudgingly, had finally agreed.

Ratchet looked up at the monument, recalling that promise, and the cure which had eventually been found – although under very suspect circumstances; Wheeljack had suddenly and inexplicably disappeared, but had left behind a Decepticon code buried within his research data. The Autobot engineer had managed, somehow, to discover this code and decipher it, though his research notes had also contained the name of the Decepticon responsible for engineering the virus. Thanks to this revelation, the named criminal had been arrested soon afterwards and charged with not only genocide, but also with the alleged murder of the Autobot engineer.

But alas, the body of his best friend was never recovered.

Wheeljack’s statue looked soulfully down at Ratchet, and the chief medic thought that he could hear his voice, a soft echo haunting his audio receptors. He wondered whether he might be glitching, and then he remembered why he had come here in the first place.

Despite all that had happened, some part of him was compelling him, driving him ever onwards to find the closure that he so desperately needed.

He would attempt to discover, once and for all, what had happened to his best friend so that he could, finally, lay him to rest.

* * *

About an hour after the successful rescue of Scavenger from the Alliance's death grip, Jazz had headed back to Iacon Central, keeping a low profile and avoiding other mechs as much as possible; he had needed that time to himself to re-evaluate his position and decide what he was going to do next.

If he returned to the Autobots, he would have to find a way to explain to them why he had helped a Decepticon escape, especially one who was, to their optics at least, responsible for a serious crime, and one who had been officially marked for deactivation by the Cybertronian High Council. As far as Scavenger was concerned, he would be safe for the time being, but there remained a high likelihood that the Alliance would eventually catch up with him again, as well as the rest of his team mates, sooner or later.

What other options did he have? He could leave Iacon for a little while, or possibly request a transfer to Altihex, but that wouldn't help matters and, besides, he wanted to find out what had happened to Groove, and discover what the Decepticons' intentions were. The way he saw it, he would either have to come up with some kind of cover story for his role in Scavenger's escape and hope that the other Autobots would believe him… or, he could consider an entirely different strategy; one that had been playing on his mind ever since Optimus had called him into his private quarters to talk a couple of weeks ago. That option, however unlikely or impossible it had seemed at the time to carry out, was now starting to make the most sense to him, as if providence had played a part and it was all starting to fall into place.

Jazz approached the maintenance and repair bay, and the double doors opened automatically. A few Autobots were on duty, attending to routine maintenance tasks. Red Alert was showing Arcee how to realign a sensory array on one of the off-lined mechs laid out on a table, but he stopped and looked over as the head of special operations waited patiently to see him.

“Hold that thought, I’ll be right back,” he told Arcee, and she nodded, smiled uncertainly at Jazz.

As Red made his way to the double doors, Jazz stepped through into the large med bay. “Hey, Jazz,” he greeted in a lowered voice. “Didn’t think we’d be seeing you back here so soon,” he said.

“Is everything all right?” Jazz asked, though he already had a strong suspicion that the senior Autobots were not too happy with him.

The acting chief medic gave him a doubtful expression. “Well, Prowl was asking if I knew where you were. I think he wants to speak to you.”

“Heh. I bet he does,” Jazz replied simply, then changed the focus away from himself. “Mind if I take a look at the patient?” he said, indicating with one hand to a berth over in the corner. Groove was lying there, looking so still and lifeless that it made Jazz feel instantly uneasy.

Red looked towards the patient, considering the request. “It’s just that… I’m supposed to let them know if you’re here. I’m – sorry, Jazz. I really don’t want to get involved or anything, but…”

“Direct orders?” Jazz finished for him. Red nodded. “Well, you do what you gotta do. I won’t be more than a few kliks,” Jazz told him, and then walked over to Groove. Red hesitated for a moment but then shrugged, headed back over to Arcee; he supposed there wouldn’t be any harm in allowing him to see the patient.

Jazz stood over the berth, carefully taking in the sight before him. He scanned the patient, recording every detail to memory, but that wasn’t the reason he had come here. He was looking for something – anything – that was not apparent, not immediately obvious to the untrained optic. He tried to imagine the Protectobot’s last few moments, the terrifying ordeal he must have gone through before being brutally off-lined. Something about the expression. There was fear, horror in the mech’s face… yes, that was obvious enough. But there was also something else, another emotion there. Something that he had seen before in the faces of terminated victims. The Mining Station at XR-5 on his last mission, he recalled with regret.

_Realization._

Yes, that was it. Realization. As if Groove had learned of something before he had lost consciousness, something that he had not expected at all.

Jazz had seen all he needed to see and quietly turned to leave the med bay, but was startled to find Prowl waiting for him at the bay’s entrance. He appeared as patient and aloof as he always did, arms crossed in front of him.

“Jazz, a word please?” Prowl said, as the First Lieutenant approached him. He did not wait for his response, but signalled for Jazz to follow him out of the med bay and into the hall outside. He made sure no other mech was in audio range but then got straight to the point, his voice low yet terse. “I’ve received various reports claiming that you were seen helping the Decepticons escape. Is this true?”

Jazz held his gaze, not giving away any of his thoughts or intentions. “And what if it was? You going to have me terminated as well, without waiting to hear what I’ve got to say?”

Prowl grimaced, his frustration now surfacing. “Jazz, this isn’t a joke! What the Pits were you thinking, providing deliberately misleading information to our search teams?” He was angry, and for an all too fleeting few seconds did not hold back. “Do you have any idea what that looks like, Jazz? What you’ve done?” The special operative said nothing, his own anger kept well under control. Prowl inhaled deeply, thought about how he was going to say what he needed to say next. “Jazz, you leave me with no choice!” He forced himself to calm down before continuing. “I'm going to have to take you into custody, at least until I've spoken to Prime.” Yet he hesitated, waited for the other mech to respond.

“On what grounds?” Jazz challenged him.

“Please don’t make this any more difficult than it needs to be–”

“I asked you a question,” Jazz said stubbornly. “On… what… grounds? I want to hear you say it.”

Prowl sighed in frustration. All right, if that’s the way he was going to be, fine. He spoke slowly, deliberately. “Jazz, as First Lieutenant of Cybertron Command, you are forthwith charged with assisting the Decepticons – _war_ _criminals_ – by aiding their escape; providing false information in a deliberate effort to mislead our search teams; and assaulting fellow Autobots and Neutrals, in direct violation of the Autobot-Neutral Alliance Code of Honour, and of the Cybertronian High Council’s directives. Is that clear enough?”

“Yeah, it’s clear enough,” Jazz said, and then added, “Let me speak to Prime first.”

Prowl hesitated, and then nodded. “He’s on his way here now.” He glanced back towards the med bay doors, imagining Groove on the table inside, and recalled the day they had found him, helpless and torn, possibly beyond salvation. “Was it really worth it, Jazz?” he asked the black and white mech, regret in his voice as he tried to fathom the motivations behind his fellow officer’s recent actions but coming up short.

Jazz did not reply, and they both stood in the hall, each observing the other, each wondering how things had ever been allowed to get this far. Several minutes passed by in silence until heavy footfalls could be heard coming from the other end of the hall, getting louder with each step. Jazz did not turn around to acknowledge the Autobot leader's approach, but waited until Prowl had stepped aside and the large mech faced him directly. Prime did not try to hide his disappointment.

“I'd like a word, Prime,” Jazz cut in, before the other could speak.

Optimus nodded once. “Not here,” he said, and indicated for the two of them to follow him as he silently made his way back down the hall. Jazz gave Prowl a look of dissatisfaction, and then caught up with the Autobot Commander as he led the way to a private conference room.

* * *

Ratchet had headed to Maccadam’s Old Oil House in an effort to take his mind off his troubles. Seated at a table within a small nook away from the distractions of the larger crowds, he observed the busy bar with a watchful optic, scanning every bot who entered and exited, unconsciously searching for someone. He wasn’t sure who he was looking for, but it didn’t really matter all that much; the main thing was that he needed time alone to think, away from the Autobot’s central hub of operations, just for a little while.

With the recent developments involving the Alliance, including their increased efforts to put an end to the Decepticon regime, Ratchet had begun to feel more and more uneasy, and anxious. This feeling had evolved into an ever-disturbing presence in the back of his mind, particularly when reports had gradually started coming in from different parts of the Gamma Sector, reports of Autobots who had been brutally attacked and left for dead, or who had gone missing. He should have realized what might be occurring much sooner, but he had been too caught up with his own internal struggle. He had made every effort to suppress the anger and frustration that plagued him – and the sorrow, too – emotions that, for too long, had remained buried deep within an inaccessible part of his being, but they had only grown stronger until they threatened to take control unless he could find the courage to confront them.

It had almost reached the point where he could no longer function without the fragmented memories of his chequered past constantly interfering with his mental processes and his work.

Even now, as he watched mechs walk by his table, acknowledging him respectfully in recognition of his senior rank, any slight trigger could send him back to that place within his troubled mind; that void of emptiness that had never truly ceased to haunt him.

He could suddenly hear the shouts from across the hall, the darkened med bay as the power momentarily went offline, Autobots being dragged onto operating tables as they cried out for someone to help them, their outer plating losing integrity at a terrifying rate while the Dark Plague took hold of them – insidious and cunning like a heartless beast of prey from Ceti Alpha Seven, yet many times more terrifying. Autobots he would never see again, or ever be able to help.

A pair of Neutrals walked past and smiled at him and he was shaken from his memories, gave them a respectful nod in acknowledgment. They resumed talking between themselves, the taller mech laughing loudly at something the femme had said.

Ratchet shook his head in an effort to return to the here and now, and he thought of Red Alert taking charge of the repair bay in his absence. He hadn't doubted for one second that his talented student would do a fine job ensuring that all was under control, and that he would be able to handle any repairs that needed to be done, no matter how large or how challenging the task. He was glad for it, too, because it meant that he would be able to focus on other things – take a little time out to sort things out before his assigned team of Autobots departed for Polyhex.

Prime had selected a team of five who had volunteered to lead a mission into Polyhex to secure the former Decepticon-controlled province. The group would have the support of several backup teams, and would be headed by an Autobot who was stationed at Altihex.

Deep in thought, Ratchet failed to notice the three mini-bots who had entered the bar. They spotted him in the far corner and, after a few moments of pointing and waving, casually ambled over towards him.

“Hi, Ratchet,” one of them said in greeting, and he looked up at his uninvited guests. Bumblebee, Cliffjumper and Brawn peered at him expectantly, and he acknowledged them all with a frown before looking away again. Bumblebee remained unperturbed by the medic's apparent disinterest in their company. “Mind if we join you?” he said, and then took an empty seat across from Ratchet. Brawn sat next to the repair specialist, while Cliffjumper slipped into the seat beside Brawn, not waiting for an invitation.

Bumblebee appeared to be in good spirits, and Ratchet decided against just getting up and walking away. Instead he sighed, looked down at his unfinished canister of pink fuel. “Something I can help you all with?” he said.

“Oh, no, not really,” the yellow mini-bot replied simply.

Ratchet looked back at them with a wary optic. “What are you three doing here? Don’t you have work to do?”

Cliffjumper, the red colored mini-bot seated next to him, answered. “Nah, my duty cycle doesn’t commence for another hour. I’ll just be on watch, besides,” he said.

“Well, I’m busy, too,” the repair expert told them.

“We haven’t seen you around much, lately,” Bumblebee commented, wanting to make conversation.

“That’s because I haven’t been around,” he told them.

“Oh!” Bumblebee started, suddenly remembering something. “Did you hear about Groove?”

Ratchet shrugged. “Yeah, I heard.” The mini-bot waiting expectantly for him to say something more, but the medic remained silent.

However, Brawn had something to say about it. “What’s the matter with you? Don’t you care that he’s this close to dying?” He indicated with his two index fingers, bringing them almost together.

Ratchet looked back at the mini-bot, unafraid of his accusatory remark. “Of course I care,” he rebuked him in irritation. “More than you know.” A few moments passed in silence and then he sighed, releasing some of the tension. “Red can handle things. I won't be able to help Groove any more than he can.”

Brawn seemed to back down. He felt just as angry and helpless as any of the other Autobots, after they had all learned what had happened to the Protectobot. Brawn only wished that he had been there the night of the attack, had been given the opportunity to offline the Decepticon responsible with his own bare hands. “I suppose you know about the Decepticon, too?” he asked. “How he escaped?”

Ratchet nodded, the frown returning to his face. “It’s no surprise, really.” He paused, and the three of them gave him a look of uneasy disapproval. “We’ve grown too complacent,” he explained, indicating around the large bar at the Autobot majority. “Too reliant on others. Too afraid to do what needs to be done.”

“What others?” Bumblebee asked, curious. “What needs to be done?”

“Shut up, Bumblebee,” Cliffjumper reproached him, and the yellow mini-bot looked at him questioningly. “Don't ask stupid questions,” he clarified.

Ratchet continued, filled with pessimism and disappointment. “Stop the Decepticons. Take back our Primus-forsaken planet, for starters. If we’re not careful, the past is just going to repeat itself.” The three of them watched Ratchet in silence; they had no ready responses for him. He shrugged. “But we sure as hell don’t need the Neutrals and their over-inflated sense of self-importance telling us how we should run things.” The three mini-bots returned blank expressions, and it was apparent that they did not possess the same depth of knowledge about the Alliance hierarchy that he did. “Look, never mind that,” Ratchet continued, changing the topic. Then something caught the corner of his optic and he stood up to leave. “If you'll excuse me, there's someone I need to see,” he said, and left the three to their own devices.

Ratchet approached the front of the bar where an Autobot stood facing away from him. He was predominantly blue and red and was leaning casually against a wall, watching one of the femmes across the room as she chatted happily with a large-framed mech. The medic placed a light hand on his shoulder, and the Autobot turned around in surprise.

“Well, well. If it isn't our favourite medic,” Smokescreen greeted him cheekily. “Thought you were off chasing Decepticons?”

“We’re making final preparations before we leave,” Ratchet replied. Not a huge fan of small talk, he got straight to the point. “Listen, I wanted to talk to you,” he said.

“Yeah,” the theoretician shrugged. “What about?”

Ratchet glanced around them, and then indicated towards the exit of the bar with a nod of his head. “Come on, let’s go for a drive.”

Smokescreen nodded. “Whatever you say, Ratch,” he replied, and followed the chief medic out of the oil house.

*

“I got a small favour to ask,” Ratchet told the red and blue Autobot car as he led the way through the streets of east Iacon, taking in the sights and sounds of the busy district while they talked. Smokescreen did not reply, only waited for him to continue. “You remember back during the Plague, when the cure to the virus was found encrypted within Wheeljack’s research? Well, something just didn’t add up back then, and it’s been bothering me of late.”

“You want me to find someone for you?” Smokescreen guessed after a pause.

“Talk to him, more like,” Ratchet corrected. “I can locate him easily enough – he’s in Iacon – but he’s not too interested in fighting our battles anymore, least not since we last spoke, anyway.”

“Ah,” Smokescreen replied, knowingly. “Sideswipe.” He mentioned the Autobot's name as though there was a stigma attached to it – as if it were best left unspoken.

“Well, I’d appreciate it if you could pass on a message for me. He might not listen to me, but he might listen to you. Besides, I’ll be leaving for Polyhex within a few hours.”

“Sure; I can try, but I can’t promise you anything, Ratchet,” Smokescreen advised the repair specialist.

“I understand.” Ratchet slowed to a stop in front of Wheeljack’s old workshop. “Come on, I want to show you something.” He transformed into his robot mode and opened the door to his former friend’s work space.

Smokescreen transformed as well and followed the Autobot medic inside. The door sealed closed behind them, and Ratchet activated the overhead lights.

“Whoa…” Smokescreen said, looking around the workshop. It looked as though Wheeljack had suddenly up and left in the middle of one of his projects, various pieces of equipment and half-completed constructions still exactly where he’d left them. “I didn't know this place still existed. It's almost as if…” Smokescreen began, walking up to the main work bench and hovering a hand gently over it, as if he expected the table and its contents to suddenly disintegrate with the slightest touch. “Well, as if he had never left.” He looked back at Ratchet, who was studying him intently.

“When he went missing… I couldn’t clear this place out. I just couldn’t,” Ratchet tried to explain.

The blue and red theoretician nodded in understanding as he carefully picked up a laser cutter, turned it over in his hands. On the end of the bench a data pad rested atop a tool box, still connected to a main terminal, as if someone had carelessly put it aside in the middle of a data transfer but then had later forgotten about it. Smokescreen placed the cutter down carefully and walked over to the data pad, picking it up. He held it up, examined it. “He must have been a real genius, discovering that cure in time,” he commented.

Ratchet walked over, took the data pad from his hand. “He was one of the best.” Ratchet said, putting the data pad back down. “But did he find the cure?” He shook his head slowly, lowered his voice. “I’m not so sure anymore.”

Smokescreen’s expression changed to one of puzzlement. “What do you mean?” He looked around the room, searching for an explanation. “Wait a second – so, if… if Wheeljack didn’t find the cure… and you didn’t find it, then…” Ratchet just looked at him and grimaced, as Smokescreen voiced the obvious question. “Who did?”

“That’s something that I’ve been asking myself for a long time,” the medic finally said. “But, the more I try to come up with an answer, the more it evades me.”

“Okay, so … what does Sideswipe have to do with all this?” Smokescreen asked, increasingly curious.

Ratchet shrugged, inhaled deeply. “He was the last one to see Wheeljack, before he disappeared. I figure he might know something that can help.” He paused, and wondered whether Sideswipe, after all this time, would be ready to forgive him. “Maybe there's some small detail, or – I don't know – something about what happened that he might have forgotten. It's worth a try.” Ratchet walked across to a desk in the corner of the workshop, and he opened the top drawer. Reaching in gently, he retrieved a small object from inside the compartment before closing the drawer again. Staring down at it, he was momentarily lost in a time that had long since passed, but before Smokescreen could say anything he returned to the present with a start. He handed the object to Smokescreen. “Here, give him this. Tell him… tell him it's from me, and to come find me.”

“What’s on it?” the other Autobot asked quizzically, as he held up the data chip to his optic.

“It’s a recorded message,” Ratchet said simply. Smokescreen waited for him to continue, but he did not elaborate any further.

“Sure thing, Ratch,” Smokescreen finally said, as he flipped the small object up in the air and caught it before he put it safely away into a small compartment in his forearm.

“Thanks,” Ratchet replied. “I owe you one.”

* * *

The door to the conference room slid open and Optimus stepped inside, waited for his two officers to follow him. But Jazz stopped short outside the door, looked back at Prowl. “Alone,” he stated obstinately. Prowl glanced at their leader, who finally nodded, and Prowl left them to talk in private as the door slid closed again.

“All right, Jazz. I’m listening,” Optimus said, taking a seat.

Jazz remained standing. He wanted this to be as brief as possible, but he took a moment to collect his thoughts before speaking. “Prime, I know this will be difficult for you to understand right now, but I was just trying to do my job.” Prime remained silent, unsure of what to make of his explanation. “Remember your request?” Jazz prompted, watching the Commander's reaction intently.

Optimus looked up at him in realization. He had asked Jazz to infiltrate the Decepticon army by making it appear as though he had defected. “Yes, but not like this, Jazz.” He looked disappointed, almost sorrowful.

“Why not?” It was an honest question, and one that Jazz felt deserved an answer. Optimus gestured with one hand, looking for the right words. He couldn’t find any. “The way I see it,” Jazz continued, “what I did makes it believable. Anything less and it just wouldn’t work.” He paused, sighed. “You still want me to do this, right? ‘Cause if you’ve changed your mind...” he said, trailing off.

“No,” Optimus finally said, shaking his head. “It’s just that, I thought you really wanted to help them.”

Jazz took in a long, slow inhalation. He was not about to lie to his Commander or allow any room for mistrust, and so he had to be honest, whether Prime would understand or not. “I _do_ want to help them,” he confessed softly.

“Jazz–” the Commander started, but his First Lieutenant cut him off before he could say anything more.

“Just – just hear me out, okay?” Optimus sighed, waited for him to continue. “You asked me to find out why the war ended, and gain the Decepticons’ trust, right?” Optimus nodded in the affirmative. “Well, I can't do that without truly seeing things from their perspective, to understand who they really are – not who we _think_ they are. It’s the only way you’ll ever find the answers to your questions. Now, I gotta ask you, what is it that you truly want?” Jazz paused, watching Optimus’ reaction.

“I’m not sure what you’re asking me,” he said.

“Do you want me to tell you what you already know, and what everyone else already knows? ‘Cause I could probably do that for you, no problem. Or do you want to know what’s really going on, even if that means having to put aside our prejudices? Because if you’re not prepared to face things as they are without your blinders on, then I suggest you withdraw your request and I’ll forget you ever brought it up in the first place.”

Optimus was taken aback by Jazz’s candid words, and they seemed to hit him hard, though he did not allow his emotions to show. “Of course, the truth is all that matters,” Optimus said after a moment of thought.

“Good. Then, let me do what I need to do, the only way I know how to do it. And, if nothing else, I’ll promise you one thing; you’re going to get what you need to know, and not just what you want to hear – whether you’ll accept it, or not.”

Optimus leaned back in his chair, his first lieutenant’s words impactful and unanticipated, and he withdrew, becoming introverted. Neither of them spoke for a long moment. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing, Jazz?” he asked finally.

Jazz shrugged. “I’m only doing what I know is right.”

Optimus sighed in resignation. If he couldn’t trust Jazz at least, then who could he trust? “Very well. I hope to hell I’m making the right decision.” He paused, taking his time. He was uncertain, hesitant. “I’ll let the others know you won’t be returning to Iacon.” Jazz nodded solemnly, listening carefully to the Autobot Commander. “And, Jazz?”

“Yeah?” he asked quietly.

“Don’t come back until you’ve found what you’re looking for. Is that understood?”

“Sure thing, Prime,” Jazz replied, and then turned and exited the conference room in silence.

A short while later Jazz left Iacon behind, and was not to return again for a long time.

* * *

“You owe me five credits, aft-face,” said a burly mech, his arms crossed as he stood behind a red, yellow and dark grey Cybertronian seeker leaning against a counter at the front of a currency exchange terminal, somewhere in an eastern suburb of Binaltech. Two other mechs accompanied him.

“I don’t owe you anything, so frag off,” the jetformer replied, without turning around to acknowledge the three of them.

“Oh, yeah?” the mech challenged, but was ignored so he stepped closer to the jet, ready to teach him a lesson. “Hey, look at me when I'm talking to you, bit-for-brains!”

The seeker did not turn around to face him. He appeared to be totally unafraid of the three mechs, even though he was notably smaller in size than the largest of the three. “Why would I want to look at your ugly head?” he said simply and began to walk away from the counter, having collected his credits.

He was stopped in his tracks by a large hand upon his shoulder, and immediately he extended his left arm in a sudden block, throwing the hand off him. He immediately went to throw a right hook into the large mech, but was held back by his two companions as they grabbed hold of his arms. Struggling to free himself, he soon discovered that it was no use; he was no match for the two of them. “Let go of me!” he demanded, but the large bot only laughed at him in smug satisfaction.

“When will you learn, Comet?” the bully said to him, sneering. Other mechs in the room looked on in alarm but then started to back away, too afraid to get involved lest they were drawn into the confrontation.

“Slag off!” Comet replied rudely, and one second later he was rewarded with a large fist making direct contact with his jaw. His head jerked backwards with the force of the impact, and then was doubled over as a second blow was driven into his midsection. He struggled to fight back, kicking out, but the mech stepped back out of the way.

“Aww, you hurt my feelings,” the mech said in mock regret. “What do you say, fellas? Has he learned his lesson yet?” His two lackeys began to laugh derisively, dropping their guard, but that was all Comet needed. He kicked back at one of them, who faltered enough for the jet to pry his arm free of his grip, and then rammed his elbow into his face. The second lackey tried to secure his hold on him, but he was thrown backwards into the counter behind them. Free of their grip, Comet managed to dive out of the way just in time before the large mech fired a laser blast in his direction.

It missed Comet by a good margin, and he scrambled to take cover behind the counter. Security alarms were activated amidst shouts of panic from patrons, and he fired his own weapon back at the bully before he bolted for the exit and then out into the busy street outside. The three mechs attempted to run after him in pursuit, but he had disappeared from their sight by the time they had stepped out into the middle of the street in search of him.

Comet did not stop running until he had passed two major intersections, and then once he was fairly certain he had lost them he stopped and leaned with his back against a building, glancing back in the direction he had come.

He took a moment to gather himself after the close encounter, his head resting against the wall, optics dimmed. As he looked up, he noticed the sign on the building's exterior; _Roundup's Exotic Entertainment_ , and shook his head at the thought of what he might find inside. He really wasn't in the mood for any sort of entertainment, exotic or otherwise, and was about to walk away when a figure suddenly appeared beside him. With a swift motion, he grabbed the mech by the throat and forced him up against the wall before he realized, with regret, that it was a femme. "Oh, it's you," he said flatly, stepping back and releasing her.

She brushed herself off in annoyance, recovering quickly from his offensive manoeuvre. "Well, who did you expect, gorgeous?" She was a Cybertronian femme, her robot mode predominately purple and yellow. What looked like wings stuck out from her back; the split hull from her speed-boat alternate mode. She grabbed his arm and started to drag him inside the entertainment building, but he refused, pulled away from her.

“Leave me alone,” he told her, but she wouldn’t take no for an answer.

“Come on, I’ll buy you a drink,” she coaxed him. “You’re too wound up. You need to enjoy yourself more, Comet.” She noticed the minor cut he had sustained from his recent skirmish, and went to run her fingers down his cheek, but he pushed her hand away.

“I said, leave me alone,” he insisted.

She crossed her arms and frowned. “Fine. Then, I guess you don’t want to hear the latest news from Cybertron?” she said, trying to entice him.

“I don’t give a slag about Cybertron,” Comet retorted, anger in his voice. “And I don’t give a slag about you, either.”

“My, my, aren’t we touchy today,” she said, seemingly offended, but then her expression softened again.

“Look, I told you not to follow me,” he said bluntly, and began to walk away.

“I saw the other seekers,” she called out suddenly.

He stopped in his tracks, and then slowly turned around to face her. “What other seekers?” he demanded.

She shrugged, gave him a sly smile; she had gotten his attention. “They were Cybertronian,” she teased. “I don’t know – they looked a lot like you, actually.”

Comet carefully considered this new information. “What were they doing here?”

“How should I know? I’m just telling you what I saw.” Then she grabbed his arm again, pulled him towards the building’s entrance. “Come on, just for a few minutes, I promise,” she said sweetly. “Please?”

Finally, he relented. “Fine,” he said, as she led him inside the building.

* * *

In a suburb north of Binaltech, four femmes drove down a side alley in their alternate modes, staying close together. Their storage compartments held what they had been able to salvage from their recent ship wreck.

Elita One slowed to a stop in her car mode and scanned the nearest building. It looked abandoned from the outside, and her scan confirmed this; the building appeared to be empty. She transformed into robot mode and aimed her pistol at the sealed door. One blast was all that it took to break the seal and she kicked open the door, then indicated for the other three femmes to follow her inside.

After they transformed into their robot modes and took a brief look around, Elita addressed her crew. “Welcome home,” she said dryly. “We can stay here for a while. At least until I can make some alternative arrangements.” Chromia nodded silently, sorting through their salvaged items as Elita continued. “We can set up a temporary base and monitoring station. I’ll go and find some energy sources first thing tomorrow.”

“Ohh, can I go with you?” Moonracer pleaded. She had since recovered from the crash landing and was eager to explore Binaltech with the other femmes.

“No,” Elita told her sternly. “There’ll be plenty of time for that later. I need you to stay here.”

Chromia began sifting through her tool box, looking for a molecular welder and laser cutter. “I’m going to need more materials than what we’ve got. I’ll go with you tomorrow,” she informed Elita without looking up.

The femme commander hesitated, considering her request. “All right. Firestar? You stay here with ‘Racer. Chromia and I will leave first thing; probably be gone before your recharge cycles end.”

Firestar nodded in the affirmative. “I can set things up here, secure the building and…” She looked over at the green femme. “Moonracer can help me rebuild the long range scanners that we salvaged from the ship.”

The sharpshooter looked back at her and nodded. She was not looking forward to that particular task, but she was happy to be able to help out, nonetheless.

“Good,” Elita said, as Chromia began to put together a makeshift recharge unit. “Then it’s decided.”

* * *

Comet did not trust Thunderblast as far as he could throw her. She had a notorious reputation for taking advantage of mechs in power for her own gain, regardless of their allegiance or where their loyalties lay. Still, he was well aware of her modus operandi, and was one of the few who did not fall for her guile. Nevertheless, his natural ability to resist her manipulations made her useful to him as a source of news from around the Sector.

He looked down at his cubed container of fuel; its form was quaint, and it reminded him of days gone by on Cybertron when he had seen better days, had held onto hope for the future. He pushed the drink aside bitterly, not wanting to be reminded of things that he had tried so hard to forget all these years.

“So, what’s up your afterburner, anyway?” the purple and yellow femme prodded, sipping at her own cube.

Comet sighed. “What’s it to you?” He looked around the entertainment suite, saw several alien mechs and cybernetic humanoids mingling and listening to what must have sounded like music to them, though he found it grating.

“I care about you,” she said coyly, watching him intently. “There’s something about you, though… I can’t quite put my finger on it.”

The seeker smirked. “You don’t give a scrap about anyone, least of all me,” he told her.

She smiled playfully. “And who do _you_ care about?” she threw back, but she knew what his answer would be before he said it.

“No one.” He leaned back in his seat, gave her a look of defiance. Comet’s yellow air intakes atop his shoulders and the wings that projected from his back were carried with an unconscious pride and an air of stateliness that Thunderblast found so alluring, despite the mech’s dull and marked outer plating caused by many years of adversity and neglect. He had fought countless battles and had endured through many tough times on the streets of Alternity City, yet he had survived where other mechs would have met their demise long ago.

“I don’t believe that for a minute,” she said.

“You think you know me?” he challenged, his impatience coming to the fore.

Thunderblast thought about it for a moment before answering, taking her time. “I didn’t say that. But what I do know is that you’re not even sure you know yourself anymore.” Comet looked at her sceptically, but let her continue. “ _I_ think… that you care about your friends on Cybertron far more than you’ve ever let on.”

He shook his head sardonically. “My so-called friends don’t care about me, so why should I care about them? To the Pits with them all,” he replied, and Thunderblast sat in silence, watching him with interest.

Yes, there was something about Comet that she couldn’t quite figure out, and it drove her absolutely insane. She didn’t know much about his past, and he only ever offered little tidbits every now and again, when she was lucky enough to find him in a relatively good mood – which wasn’t very often.

She tried a different approach and changed the subject. “The Autobots are making their move; they’re taking complete control of Cybertron, even as we speak. I’ve heard they’ve almost wiped out the Decepticons, too.”

Comet scoffed. “That’s not possible,” he retorted.

She couldn’t tell whether he was upset, or simply sceptical about the news. “Why not?” she asked, curious.

“Because!” he started. A waiter-bot suddenly interrupted them, offering them more drinks, but he brushed him aside in annoyance. “The Autobots are not that powerful on their own. They couldn’t possibly hold such a position without…” He trailed off, as realization slowly dawned on him. “The Alliance,” he stated quietly to himself. How long had it been since the Neutrals had started cooperating with the Autobots in an official capacity? Since the end of the Great War, he recalled.

Thunderblast was nodding, smiling. She was rather enjoying his reaction, probably for her own gratification. “It’s probably already too late, anyway,” she taunted, leaning forward as she held his gaze. “All your former Decepticon pals… probably all extinguished by now, wouldn’t you think?”

“I don’t give a slag about any of them – not any more!” His anger had been roused as he stood up from his seat, knocking the cube full of liquid to the floor.

But his little outburst did not seem to deter her in the slightest. “Don’t you? That’s too bad; they could do with all the help they can get, right about now.”

Comet was visibly trembling, as he tried his best to control his anger, but it was not working. “I _can’t_ help them!” The words burst forth as he raised his voice at her. “Even if I _wanted_ to, I can’t help them!” He turned and swiftly headed for the exit.

“Comet!” Thunderblast called after him, getting up from her seat. “Comet!”

But it was too late; he was gone.

Thunderblast sat back down slowly, sipped at the rest of her drink. Then she started chuckling softly to herself, enjoying her assigned task.

* * *

Astro navigated his way through Axel's interplanetary space port, a large town located just beyond Binaltech to the south, as Rook followed closely behind. Jhiaxus' former second in command had not spoken much after they had abandoned Jhiaxus' cruiser, though he was nervous and constantly on the alert.

Astro stopped beside an information terminal and scanned the area, searching for a Cybertronian signature.

“So, what now?” Rook asked, glancing warily around the space port. It was busy, as travellers hurried past on their way to their destinations. Near one of the departure terminals, a small group of security guards stood watching the passengers as they scrambled to board their designated transport ships. The common transportation system was often slow and only offered limited destinations, though it was expensive and the security scans were often overbearing.

“Now, we head north,” Astro said, and began to lead the way through the crowd once more. “Stay close.”

Their way north was slow on foot, as the unruly crowd proved to be a constant obstacle in their path; it took them almost half hour to finally arrive at the space port's north exit. Nevertheless, it helped to provide a good cover for them as they determined to keep out of the way, and out of sight. The last thing they needed was the unwanted attention of certain mechs, especially those from the subterranean base. Astro was certain that the High Commander had been alerted to their absconsion by now, and had probably sent out a search party after them.

Heading out onto a main street, they were about to turn a corner when Astro placed a hand on Rook's shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. Then he stepped back, indicating for Rook to do the same, and at the same time to remain quiet. Not more than an astro-second later, a large mech walked passed them, accompanied by a party of four others. Rook caught a glimpse of him; he was a Pretender – a robot samurai warrior disguised with an outer shell that gave him a quasi-organic look.

“Bludgeon,” Astro whispered, recognising the warrior instantly.

The warrior had gone no further than a few steps when he stopped suddenly, suspicious. He slowly looked around, sniffing at the air as if endowed with a keen sense of smell that could hone in on any prey. Astro instinctively charged up his laser blaster, held it up to his side and then waited quietly on full alert. Rook took the cue and did the same, then waited for Astro to give the signal.

Bludgeon let out a low growl, sensing them close by. He was often hired by the High Commander to hunt down and assassinate mechs who had, for one reason or another, ended up on his bad side – Astro and Rook now included. The warrior slowly retraced his steps in the direction he had come, approaching the two of them ever closer until, finally, he was upon them, trying to corner them, but Astro was too fast for the large brute. Laser blasts erupted in a sudden, frantic confrontation. Bludgeon was temporarily blinded, but he was difficult to knock out; he stood his ground, roaring at them, lunging forward with his sword drawn in a terrifying show of might. The sword slashed through the air, narrowly avoiding Astro's arm as he kept the samurai at bay with his laser weapon. Rook stood behind him, but the mech’s four companions were also fast closing in around them.

“Run for it! I’m right behind you,” Astro shouted back at Rook, indicating towards the opposite end of the main street. Rook hesitated, still firing his weapon at the group of mechs, and Astro pressed him again. “Go!” Finally Rook bolted, pushing his way past the pedestrians on the busy sidewalk. Astro followed him a moment later, and the two of them sped down the street as their assailants attempted to follow them through the crowd.

On Alternity City, it was easy to disappear amid the throng, and Astro used this to their advantage; within a few minutes they had lost Bludgeon and his minions. He stopped running and rested his head against a pylon, retracting his blaster. Rook stood next to him, still a little disorientated from the sudden encounter and near miss.

“That was close,” Astro said, after they had recovered.

“Yes, too close,” Rook agreed, exasperated. “I hope that whomever you are searching for is well worth all of this.”

Astro glanced across at him, pushing his weight against the pylon and starting down the street once more, heading north towards Binaltech. “Oh, he’s worth it,” he replied simply, as Rook followed after him.

* * *

After their narrow escape from the subterranean base a few days ago, Dirge and his team had been able to force an entry into a refining plant, where they had stayed while their systems restored from the damage they had sustained during their battle. With the help of Bitstream, Thrust was able to restore full power to his systems. Dirge and Bitstream had also recovered without too many problems.

“Where are we, exactly?” Ramjet asked the others as he walked over to lean against some long transportation tubes that ran down the length of the access corridor beneath the plant's main factory floor. They had managed to stay out of the way and undetected from the workers, who rarely ventured down here. Every now and again, activity could be heard from one of the transportation tubes, as freight was sent out from the plant to a nearby pick up bay.

“I think we’re still in Hitec,” Dirge shrugged. He was referring to one of the planet’s major cities, and where the subterranean base was located. He sat on the floor of the corridor, leaning against the wall.

For a while no one spoke until Ramjet asked another question. It was the same question that he’d been asking for days, though none of them had been able to come up with any good answers. “What the scrap happened back there?”

Their team leader answered him again, taking his time. “Your guess is as good as mine. All I know is that we successfully carried out our mission, just like Megatron asked us.”

“Yeah, but we had some unexpected help,” Ramjet pointed out, not for the first time. “Otherwise, we would have all been scrapped for sure.”

Silence fell between them once more, as they each tried to come to terms with the reality of just how close they had all come to being confronted with their own termination.

“What was the transmission all about, anyway?” Thrust asked though he, too, knew the answer he would get. “Eh, don’t tell me – it’s on a need-to-know basis.” Dirge didn’t respond, an indication that he was right. “So, where to next?” he inquired, turning to Dirge.

“Binaltech,” the blue and black team leader said flatly. “We should be on our way back to Cybertron within the next day or two. At least, that’s the plan.”

Bitstream, listening quietly to their conversation, spoke up. “I can’t wait to get back to Cybertron. This whole place gives me the creeps.” His four wing mates indicated their agreement with wistful expressions.

“Too bad we can’t get off this slaggin’ cesspit sooner,” Acid Storm commented. He was not particularly fond of Alternity City, a sentiment that they all shared.

“Well, we’ve got to stay invisible until we can meet up with Astrotrain,” Dirge reminded him. “Until then, we’re sticking to the schedule.”

Silence fell about them again until, after several minutes had passed, Dirge finally stood up and started making his way down the darkened corridor. “Come on, let’s move.”

* * *

Optimus Prime tried to fully focus on the mission ahead. Ultra Magnus, a highly regarded Autobot, had originally been scheduled to lead his small team into Polyhex but the Autobot leader had decided to replace him at the last minute.

Elita One's words kept interrupting his thoughts, her recorded message repeating in his mind over and over again. He had since learned that she, and the rest of her crew, had departed Cybertron, and by doing so had gone against not only standard Alliance protocol, but also his own wishes. That, along with Jazz's recent actions, had not only made him question his effectiveness as Commander but also his effectiveness on an inter-personal level. In addition, he was none too happy with the recent Decepticon show, when Devastator had made his escape into Polyhex, and part of him believed that he might be able to rectify that situation, somehow, by taking some immediate and direct action; needless to say, he did not want to return to Iacon or to the High Council empty-handed.

His thoughts settled on the memory of his last conversation with Jazz. He trusted his first lieutenant with his life, that much he was sure; however, Jazz's willingness to want to see things from the Decepticons' perspective had left him feeling anxious. He knew how stubborn Jazz could be about his feelings, and the last thing he wanted was for him to suffer the scrutiny of his fellow Autobots, particularly after what he had done. In the end, he decided that it was best for Jazz to leave Iacon indefinitely, rather than have him undergo a long and tedious trial process. He knew that the special operative could look after himself, but what bothered him most was the impact that the truth would have on Jazz, when he finally discovered it for himself.

Optimus stood outside Iacon Central, each of his team members present and accounted for. Every officer had been selected to take part in this mission for various reasons; Ratchet had been restless of late and had volunteered, surprising everyone; Hot Rod was an obvious choice, as was Bluestreak – they were both skilled warriors, and always eager for some action. Trailbreaker was a remarkable defence strategist and always made a valuable addition to the team.

“Alright, Autobots,” he said to them, as they stood in an ordered line in front of him. “Let’s get this show on the road.” Transforming into his large semi-trailer truck mode he pulled out onto the runway that led west out of Iacon, and the others transformed and followed closely behind.

The convoy of five proceeded through the streets at a steady pace, with several backup teams falling in line behind them though keeping a good distance away. Despite their best intentions they drew unwanted attention to themselves, as pedestrians and onlookers stopped what they were doing to watch in admiration, or to offer shouts of support and encouragement. Whilst the Autobot leader had a reputation in Iacon that preceded him, at times it could get in the way of his objectives and slow him down.

One hour later and they arrived at the site of Superion's recent confrontation with Devastator. Alliance construction crews had already been despatched to begin repairs and rebuild the collapsed bridge. Optimus led them through the underpass, and a short while later they reached the Iacon border, Polyhex now clearly in their sights.

The Autobot Commander slowed to a stop and surveyed the landscape before them. The fortress at Darkmount, deep in the heart of Polyhex, could be seen as a small speck in the distance.

“Where do we begin, Optimus?” Trailbreaker asked from behind him.

“Let’s head for their most likely stronghold,” he replied. “If we can secure Darkmount, they will have nowhere else to run to.”

“ _If_ that’s their main hideout,” Trailbreaker added. “We should be able to draw them out easily enough.”

“They won’t stand a chance,” Hot Rod agreed, thrilled by the prospect.

“We’ve got the advantage; it’ll be an easy mission, I’d say,” said Bluestreak, one of the Autobots’ top gunners.

“Let’s not get too ahead of ourselves,” Optimus corrected them. “We may have the strategic advantage, but remember; they’re still Decepticons, and will use every trick in the Archives to try and evade our efforts. Just be on the alert.”

As they headed off once more in the direction of Darkmount, they were not aware that they were being tracked by an unobtrusive and virtually undetectable miniature Decepticon spy; a spy whose sole purpose was to relay all gathered information back to his protector.

* * *

Comet turned westward towards Binaltech and began to cover distance on foot. His form as a Cybertronian tetrajet enabled him superior flight capability, allowing him to arrive at a destination in the shortest amount of time, but this mode would have attracted too much attention and, besides, he had no particular place to go; all he wanted to do in this moment was get as far away from Thunderblast, or any other mech, as possible.

Most mechs never recognized him, though despite this he still felt as though he was constantly being pursued by those who would be more than happy to exact their long-held resentments upon him. If caught he would be handed over to the highest paying warlord or mob boss on Alternity City or elsewhere in the Sector. Comet, as he was known around Binaltech, would undoubtedly fetch the ultimate price for any bounty hunter if they knew of his existence.

Fortunately, he had not yet been discovered. Not even Thunderblast, who thought herself quite clever and manipulative, had any idea who he truly was. Either way, he didn’t owe her anything.

However, their recent conversation had left him in a state of agitation, and he now sought to be left alone. Despite his charisma and his natural ability to charm the afterburners off any mech, too many years spent on Alternity City had taken its toll on him, and he rarely sought the company of other mechs; when he did, it was often to his disadvantage.

Suddenly, that’s what he felt like right now; a little bit of disadvantage. He veered left into a small alley, where several tall unit blocks stood stacked up against one another. They were the most affordable blocks in this part of town, and were mainly occupied by low level workers, or junk bots, which was the derogatory term for them.

Comet found the small unit he was looking for, and beat his fist against the metal door. “Detritus!” he called, and then waited before trying again. “Detritus, open the door, you piece of scrap!”

A few seconds passed in silence until, finally, the door opened with a swoosh sound. “Comet? What the frag do you want? I told you I’m not offering my services,” he said in an irritated voice. Detritus was a heavily built Cybertronian mercenary who had left his home planet long ago to reside on Junkion. He was currently on business visiting Alternity City for a brief stay, or at least that's what he had told Comet.

“I don’t want your services. Just let me in for a cycle,” the seeker demanded, and pushed past the Junkion into his small quarters.

“Comet, what the frag–” Detritus began, and then watched in disbelief as Comet began searching the small space, opening compartments and looking under the various contraptions and data pads that littered the solitary shelving unit and table. He leaned across and placed his left hand over the seeker's shoulder, shoving him backwards against the wall. Comet landed heavily on the floor, a mobile holo-imager crashing on top of him. “Don’t you know it’s rude to look through someone else’s stuff without asking?” Detritus told him angrily. “You know, I have a good mind to just send your aft to Hitec on the first transport out.”

Comet picked himself up, leaving the imager on the floor. “Where is it?” he demanded, ignoring the mercenary’s rebuking.

“Where’s what?”

“That transceiver you took from me!” Comet explained, his voice rising in anger.

Detritus’ expression turned to one of surprise. “Oh, no, you don’t; you left it here, so now it’s mine.”

“It’s not yours, and I want it back,” Comet insisted. “Hand it over,” he demanded, holding out his hand in expectation.

“Slag off,” the mercenary said bluntly.

“Hand it over!” Comet repeated stubbornly, pointing his left arm-mounted blaster at the other mech.

Detritus stared at the black muzzle, but then gave the seeker a disapproving look. “You can’t be serious?”

“Oh, I’m absolutely serious,” Comet replied, holding his gaze steady. “You want to try me, go ahead.” He raised the weapon up higher, levelled it at Detritus’ face.

Detritus gave him a smug expression, and then slowly reached across to a table compartment and opened it. He retrieved a small device and held it up. It was imprinted with the Decepticon faction symbol. “You want this?” he asked.

“Give it to me,” Comet replied, holding out his other hand.

Detritus slowly smiled. “All right… you want it so bad, I’ll tell you what. I’ll trade you for it,” he said, negotiating.

Comet considered his proposal. Sure, he could just blast a hole right through the mech’s armour plating, take back the device and run, but he didn’t really feel like making another enemy today; he already had plenty of those in Binaltech as it was. “What do you want for it?”

“Oh, how does… fifty credits sound?” Detritus said, teasing him.

“It’s not worth anywhere near that much,” Comet lied. “No deal.” He was about to charge up his blaster, but then the mercenary stopped him, holding up his hands.

“Okay, okay! I was only teasing,” he said quickly. “What the hell do you need that communication device for, anyway?” he asked, in an attempt to stall the seeker. “I thought you’d given up on them.”

But Comet wouldn’t buy into his game. “That’s none of your business, Detritus. You get one last chance.”

The mech contemplated the situation, and what might be a reasonable trade for the device he had in his possession. It was of little use to him, but he was quite certain that he could sell it to one of his contacts for a good price. “All right, how about fifteen credits?” he proposed.

Comet considered his offer, and then made him a counter-offer. “Seven. And you also get to live,” he finally replied.

“You drive a hard bargain, Comet,” Detritus commented, before accepting his terms. “I guess you leave me with no choice.” He flipped the device into the air so that it landed neatly into Comet’s open hand. The seeker retracted it into his arm compartment, lowered his weapon arm, and tossed the promised credits onto the table.

Starting to feel a little better, Comet left the Junkion’s quarters without saying another word.


	7. Chapter 7

With twilight descending upon Alternity City, Binaltech's scene changed; its usual day time activities replaced by an altogether different sort. The sheer number of mechanoids and cybernetic life forms that roamed the city streets in search of their next fix or thrill coincided with the higher nocturnal incidence of petty crime, more easily perpetrated under the cover of darkness. A fair number of these mechs were destitute – their continual search for energy to stay alive the only purpose to their miserable existence.

Comet was grateful for the impending night, as he carefully avoided stepping on a non-functional mechanoid. He recoiled in disgust, and ran past the poor wretch. Probably a beggar up until his last moments, when a marauder from a nearby ruling clan had mercilessly ended his life.

On Alternity City, to be independent and free from slavery, yet also remain functional, was an accomplishment that was only ever achieved by a rare few. Nonetheless, even those who had managed to evade a fate worse than death would eventually have to confront their deepest and darkest fears, and make the ultimate choice between succumbing to his demons or fighting for his very spark. In this regard, Comet was no exception.

Ever since he had been on this planet he had endured a never-ending battle, not only for his very survival but for his sanity as well. As he slowed to a stop around a darkened corner of a narrow alleyway, a jumble of confused memories plagued him. He gripped his transceiver tightly in one hand, and imagined what it would be like to experience self-deactivation. Would the pain finally end? Would the relentless anguish and torment of a mech who had already been through the very depths of hell suddenly be forgotten, replaced by blissful forgetfulness? He had imagined this alternative existence many times, yet each time he had been unable to bring himself to that point of no return.

The transceiver he held seemed to be the only thing that was keeping him from teetering too close to the brink of insanity. It offered him comfort, and feeble hope, but also bitter disappointment and despair; the memories it evoked at the same time welcomed yet also rejected by him.

He slowly opened his hand and stared down at the device. It lay in his palm inert; a small, black token that beckoned him to acknowledge its purpose, its potential to be able to finally break him, or help save him – he wasn't sure which, had always been too afraid to find out.

But he couldn't continue the way he was going, this much he knew. Perhaps the recent news from Cybertron had triggered something, a need to confront whatever had caused him to end up living such a miserable and lonely existence, whatever had torn him away from all those he had known and loved only to be thrown into this harsh, alien world. To come face to face with whomever had banished him, demanded his exile.

The sound of sharp metallic blades scraping together suddenly alerted Comet once again to the ever-present yet familiar dangers of a life on the streets, and from out of the shadows a deadly presence revealed itself. Comet remained where he was, and the entity watched him as a beast observes its prey, waiting for the right moment to strike him down so that it could claim him as his prize.

Comet did not flinch, nor did he attempt to evade the bounty hunter. He would no longer run or hide. Now he would confront his enemy, regardless of the outcome, and finally surrender to what must be. He would allow fate to decide, once and for all, his destiny. "So, Lockdown," he said, speaking the bounty hunter's name with a surprising confidence and determination that he hadn’t felt since he had been banished from Cybertron over a vorn ago. "What am I worth? A hundred credits? Two hundred?"

The bounty hunter moved slowly closer, prepared to strike with lethal accuracy at a moment's notice. His silent, still poise belied his deadly tendencies. "Ah, you are worth more than that. Much, much more than that… Comet. Or, is it?" he uttered in a dangerously low voice, each word long and drawn out.

Comet slowly closed his hand around the transceiver, held on to it as if it gave him strength, deepened his conviction. He looked straight past Lockdown and into the darkened alleyway, prepared himself for what he knew would soon come. "I'm worth more to you alive," he stated.

"Hmm." Lockdown tilted his head to one side, contemplating how best to subdue his game. "Perhaps." With swift precision he brandished his double swords before pressing one of the blades against Comet's neck and pointing the other directly in front of his spark chamber.

"How long have you been following me?" Comet asked. He appeared to be unafraid, as if fear itself had voluntarily taken a back seat in his mind.

Lockdown hesitated, unsure of the seeker's intentions. "For long enough," he replied and then, with a swift and violent strike, he brought the handle of his sword down upon the side of Comet's face. The blow instantly weakened the seeker, and he found himself with his back flat against the ground, wincing at the sharp sensation of electrical energy as it overloaded his circuitry. It gradually subsided, and the next moment Lockdown was standing over him, savouring the seeker's suffering.

"What's the matter, have you lost your touch?" Comet goaded, his voice sounding more abrasive than usual.

Lockdown could see through Comet's ploy, and he laughed derisively. "It seems that your many years in exile have taught you nothing," he observed with contempt. "Your sharp tongue will get you nowhere with me."

The seeker tried to push himself up into a sitting position, but was stopped as Lockdown held out a sharp blade to his throat. The bounty hunter retrieved a device with his other hand, and Comet saw that it was a circuit dampener. If he allowed Lockdown to subdue him with it, his chances of escape would be over.

Yet Comet could not see a way to evade capture; Lockdown was the most infamous bounty hunter in the entire Gamma Sector, and for good reason. His reputation preceded him, and most mechs trembled at the mere thought of being on his blacklist. Indeed, he had captured a countless number of renegades and wanted criminals, paying no heed to their race or affiliation; all that mattered to him was that he was handsomely rewarded for his efforts.

The transceiver still grasped tightly in his right hand, Comet considered activating it as he slowly showed his hands in a gesture of surrender.

He had been in possession of the transceiver ever since he had arrived on this planet, yet in all those years he had never once dared use it. What had he been so afraid of? To discover that those he once knew, those he’d trusted with his life, had truly abandoned him? Afraid that if he were to contact the remaining Decepticons they would turn him away, rejecting him? He supposed that he had been too afraid to find out for sure, had not yet found the courage or the strength to face his worst fears.

But now he had nothing more to lose, and he was tired of running, tired of fighting just to stay alive. He looked up at the bounty hunter, unafraid, his optics steadfast. And before Lockdown could stop him, he activated the small device.

* * *

The early morning hours in one of Binaltech's far northern districts were eerily quiet, the ambiance almost nothing like that of the inner city, with its constant noise and heavy traffic. Elita One had quickly learned the name of the suburb, shortly after her crew of femmes had arrived here: Koltar. She and Chromia had left their makeshift base only a few minutes ago, and were scanning the surrounding area for any indication as to where they might be able to source raw materials for conversion into energy.

"What are we going to do, Elita?" the blue femme asked her team leader.

Elita looked out towards a distant structure. It was a large dome that overshadowed many of the surrounding buildings. "Well, we're here now so we may as well find out what we can, but only after we've taken care of our most immediate needs." She started walking along the road that would take them directly to the large dome, and then transformed into her vehicle mode. "Come on, that dome's an energy accumulator." Chromia transformed as well, and the two of them drove quietly towards the large structure.

After several minutes the dome came clearly into view, looming directly ahead. It stood luminescent against the darkened sky. Elita stopped in front of it and initialized another scan, taking note of the structure's layout and access points, as well as its level of security. She transformed into robot mode. "Let's get a little closer."

Chromia transformed and they both began walking toward the dome's perimeter wall until they arrived at a sealed gate that could only be accessed with a secure code. "Elita, how do you plan on getting past security, let alone getting us inside that dome?" she asked, looking doubtfully up at the metallic wall.

"They're good questions, Chrome. Questions which I do not have answers to – _yet_." The pink leader class femme glanced around, surveying the area. Transforming her hand into a hook, she aimed it upwards and ejected an attached line. It flew neatly over the wall and the hook caught onto the top edge. She pulled it taught, testing it. "But I'm sure we'll figure something out," she said, before scaling the wall. Once she was at the top, she looked down at Chromia and indicated for her to follow her lead.

They both jumped down the other side, quickly scanned the area and then sprinted towards a stack of large canisters, using them as a cover before guards in the distance could be alerted to their presence.

"What now?" Chromia whispered. "There's at least four sentry bots stationed at the front."

"Six," Elita corrected her. "Two more behind that transport platform." She paused, strategizing, then spoke again. "We can take them."

Chromia looked at her nervously. "Elita, what if reinforcements arrive?"

Elita One hesitated, but then held up her hand in sudden caution.

"What is it?" Chromia asked in a low whisper.

"Did you hear something?" she replied as she looked around behind the canisters. It was still dark, and she couldn't see anything past the obscurity within her normal range of vision. She activated her optic sensors' broad spectrum range and tried again. This time, she saw the source of the sound.

"No," Chromia began, but before she could ask another question Elita had moved out from behind the canisters and had darted towards the side of a nearby loading bay.

She indicated for Chromia to do the same, and then pointed up towards the sky. "There," she said, as they both hid from view just inside the empty bay area.

They watched as a solitary shuttle descended, landing only a short distance away from the other side of the perimeter wall, out of sight.

"Is that who I think it is?" Chromia said in quiet disbelief.

Elita nodded. "What the hell is he doing here?" she wondered, slightly irate. The last thing they needed right now was any sort of interference – particularly from a Decepticon.

"Maybe he followed us here?" Chromia suggested.

"Maybe," she replied, "maybe not." Then, before she could say anything more they both watched as a predominately grey mechanoid jumped down inside the yard from the top of the wall. He had purple highlights on his wings, and was obviously the transformed shuttle they had seen only moments before. He appeared to be unaware of the two femmes; either he hadn't bothered scanning the area or, if he was aware of their presence, he didn't seem to care.

Elita wielded her electromagnetic pulse scrambler, held it out in front of her. "Ready?" she told Chromia, who barely had time to draw her own weapon, a modified grenade launcher, before moving out from under the bay's cover.

The two femmes approached the lone Decepticon, who had his back to them. "Turn around, slowly," Elita ordered him.

The mech turned around to face them and, as he realized who he was dealing with, a look of mild astonishment crossed his face. "That wrecked cruiser belonged to you, didn't it? The one that crashed in the tower just north from here?" He took a step cautiously toward them.

"Stay right where you are," Elita One warned him, "unless you want me to blast you a new one." The Cybertronian triple changer stood where he was, watching them with curiosity. "What in the blazes are you doing here, Astrotrain?" she demanded.

After a few seconds of contemplation, he answered. "I should ask _you_ the same thing." The femmes exchanged glances, silently trying to determine whether he posed any threat to them. He must have noticed this, and spoke again. "I wasn't following you, if that's what you're thinking."

Elita held her weapon steady, keeping it aimed at him. "Alright, but that's still no reassurance."

Astrotrain made a pacificatory gesture with his hands. "Look, I don't want to cause you any trouble." He paused, observing the femmes with interest. "Looks to me like the two of you are here on your own."

"That's no concern of yours, Decepticon," the femme leader replied warily. She looked about, made sure that the guards around the other side of the dome hadn't noticed them. It appeared to be safe for the moment. "I suggest you leave before you alert the sentry," she concluded.

The triple changer shook his head. "No way; I'm not leaving until I have what I came for."

The femme leader moved a step closer towards him, her weapon pointed threateningly at his chest. "Perhaps you didn't quite hear me," she said, her anger roused.

Chromia stepped forward and placed a hand on her arm. "Wait, Elita," she said to her, and then spoke to Astrotrain. "What _are_ you here for?"

He looked from one to the other and considered what, if anything, he should tell them. Finally, he glanced towards the dome structure. "Energy. What else?"

Elita was incredulous. "There's no way you’re getting in there on your own." She looked around again, trailed her weapon. "There must be others here with you; darn it."

"I'm here on my own," he tried to reassure her, but she remained suspicious, distrustful.

"So, you're saying… you can get inside?" Chromia asked him.

Astrotrain shrugged. "Sure. I've done it once or twice before."

After several moments of careful contemplation, Chromia turned to her friend. "Maybe he can help us, Elita," she said quietly.

Elita shook her head without a second thought, kept her gaze focused on the triple changer. "No way he can be trusted."

"Think about it. We've just lost our only means home, and right now we need energy – probably just as much as he does." Chromia hesitated, and then added, "Besides, we're not on Cybertron. No one has to know that we ever saw him." The femme leader bit her lower lip as she considered her friend's words, but remained unconvinced.

"She has a point," Astrotrain interjected, speaking calmly.

Elita ignored him. "Chrome, he could be lying. Besides, we don't need him; we can do this on our own."

"Suit yourself," he interjected again, increasingly frustrated with the femme leader. "But one thing's for sure; you're going to need to know how to disable the internal alarm system, and that's _if_ you even manage to get inside."

"What if he's telling the truth?" Chromia pressed. "If we get caught, there's no telling what will happen to the others."

Elita remained quiet for several seconds as she decided what they should do. "Why would he even _want_ to help us, anyway?" she asked the blue femme, though the question was directed more at him.

Chromia had no answer for her. She hadn't even considered that point, had only thought of the mutual benefit they would all gain should they work together. After all, the three of them were all here for the same thing; energy, and on Alternity City, survival often mattered more than what side you were on.

Before she could say anything, Astrotrain saved her the trouble. "I'll tell you what; I help you, and you can repay the kindness later. How's that sound?"

The pink femme hesitated. "And how do you expect us to do that, exactly?" she said to him, sounding doubtful.

He shrugged. "I won't ask for much." He paused, watching them. "I'm only here for a short while. All I want to do is return to Cybertron without the Autobot-Neutrals up my tail pipe."

"Sorry to disappoint, but there's not much we can do about that," Elita One replied, lowering her weapon. She hesitated before continuing. "I can't promise you anything… but, if anyone comes looking for you, we don't know anything. It's the best I can offer."

Astrotrain nodded, smiling. "Sounds good to me," he said, and then glanced toward the dome. "Let's get it done."

* * *

"How do you propose we get to Cybertron? As far as I can see, we're stranded here, in the planet's most deplorable city, with no mode of transport, and no place to stay." Rook and Astro had been navigating through the busy streets of Binaltech for almost an hour, keeping a safe distance from the night crowd yet at the same time making sure that they did not become too isolated. The closer they approached the city center, the noisier and more encroaching the crowd became, to the point that Rook had to almost power down his audio receptors. "Tell me – you _do_ have a plan?"

Astro kept walking, unperturbed by his companion's doubts and concerns. "Don't worry about transport. We can always find another shuttle." He couldn’t help but smile, almost enjoying Rook's uneasiness. It had been a long time since Astro had first gone deep undercover, but now that he could return to serve his true allegiance he wanted to enjoy every minute of his well-earned freedom. He no longer needed to concern himself with playing the role of confidante to the High Commander of the Hitec base – a role which he had performed exceptionally well. Now, with the changing times and the unfolding state of affairs on Cybertron, he had been instructed to complete his mission and return home. It was the one thing that he had quietly been looking forward to for many years. Rook, however, had not been a planned part of his mission; that decision had been his own initiative, and one that he was certain the Decepticon leader would approve of.

Rook was silent for a little while longer as he contemplated Astro's unconcerned, almost nonchalant manner, very far removed from the reserved, quiet mech he had known throughout their entire time at the base. "Why did you do it?" he asked finally, only audible enough for the blue mech to be able to hear him.

"Do what?" Astro slowed to a stop at a busy intersection and watched the mass of city dwellers move steadily past with the ebb and flow rhythm of ocean waves.

"Help me," Rook said simply. "How did you know I–" He faltered, unable to find the right words as Astro turned to him with a steady gaze.

Astro understood what the other had meant without the need for him to explain himself. "I've lived through many Wars, probably more than most mechs. And I have seen many soldiers come and go. Many forgot their purpose, their reason for fighting," he began. He spoke solemnly, yet with an assuredness that Rook found almost fascinating. "I've also seen what drives many of us, what motivates us to fight. Compels us to stay alive so that we can continue to do what others before us have failed to do. But the fear that we all carry deep down within our sparks; the inner torment – Decepticon, Autobot, Destron – it doesn't matter. It’s always there, and it’s always the same. Some find their strength and learn to use it, though they often require… some encouragement. But those who completely succumb to their fears eventually self-destruct." He paused, and acknowledged Rook with a determined gaze. "You, my friend, have always been a Decepticon, though you have yet to understand your true worth." He scanned the area, indicated down a main thoroughfare. "Come on, this way," he said, and started walking along the wide street.

Rook followed after him, fully immersed in the memory of recent events. He was only recently able to come to terms with how his life had been irrevocably changed ever since Astro had convinced him to leave the base.

As Astro honed in on his target the two approached a large subway entrance, and they moved quickly down the flight of steps that led to one of Binaltech's major inter-city transport terminals. At the bottom of the steps he came to a sudden halt, grabbed Rook by the arm as he indicated across to a waiting area.

Rook shifted his gaze to the center of the space, where several commuters awaited the arrival of the next subway carriage, most of them seated in one of the many chairs arranged in rows. But he could see nothing out of the ordinary. "He's here?" he asked, looking back towards Astro in confusion.

Astro shook his head, and then nodded towards one of the seats at the back. "There's a Cybertronian here who might be able to help us," he replied.

Rook looked again, but could not spot among the commuters any mechanoid that even remotely resembled a Cybertronian. "I don't see him."

"That's because it's not a _he_ ; it's a _she_ ," the blue mech informed him, with his characteristic assuredness. Then he moved forward into the waiting area, pulling his companion along with him. "Her name's Thunderblast. Just let me do the talking."

"Wait–" However, Rook didn't have much time to process the information as Astro proceeded to take a seat opposite her, indicating for him to do the same.

Astro crossed his arms in front of him and regarded the purple and yellow femme with quiet contemplation before he spoke. "Hello, Thunderblast," he greeted her. "I hear Sentinel's quite pleased with you of late."

Thunderblast shifted her gaze in his direction, looking surprised. Her expression slowly turned to suspicion. "And who the slag are you?" she asked scornfully.

Astro ignored her question. "Where's Comet?" he asked.

"Why the hell should I tell you anything?" she replied in total bewilderment.

His gaze remained steadily fixed upon the femme as Rook observed their interaction in disbelief. "Because if you don't, I'll just have to let Sentinel in on your little secret."

Thunderblast opened her mouth in shock, and was about to say something but then changed her mind. "I don't know what you're talking about," she asserted stubbornly.

Astro leaned forward in his chair, lowered his voice. "Don't you? Then let me remind you. Offering Trannis classified information in return for a privileged position within his little outfit…"

The femme became irritated, resentful. She stood up, indignant. "Now, you look here, whatever your name is! I really don't see why that's any concern of _yours_ ," she told him, and began to walk away in a hurry.

Astro followed her and, quickly catching up, he pushed her up against a wall, spoke into her audio receptor. "You can call me Astro," he whispered, "and everything you do is a concern of mine." She tried to push him away, but he held her firm.

"Get away from me!" She struggled against his grip and then, realizing that she could never match him in strength, tried a different tactic. "Look, I don't know where Comet is, okay? Now let me go!"

The blue mech shook his head, feigning disappointment. "Don't lie to me, Thunderblast. I know you've been in contact with him."

She looked back at him, exasperated. "That doesn't mean I know where he _is_ ," she defended, and then added, "Besides, he's not the type who likes to be found. If you ask me, Comet has some serious issues, and he's not easy to get along with, either."

"Never mind that. Just tell me where you last saw him," Astro insisted, as he slowly released her.

She pushed against him, and then recomposed herself. "Oh, I don't know… at some entertainment venue called _Roundup_ , or something like that. Not too far from here," she said, indicating towards the east. "Are you happy now?" A glance towards Rook. "What are _you_ looking at?" she asked him, hands on hips, her tone contemptuous. Rook, his optics covered by his visor, did not give her a reply. Instead he watched as Astro continued to question the femme.

"Did you speak to him?"

Thunderblast shook her head. "No!" Astro began to move towards her, but she backed him off with her hands. "Okay, okay, no need to get your coils in a twist." She crossed her arms, gave them both a sullen look. "I _might_ have spoken to him… for a brief period." She shrugged. "But then… he got a little upset and left in a hurry." The two mechs watched her with curiosity. Behind them, the subway carriage had pulled into the station along its anti-gravity tracks, barely making a sound. She glanced nervously at the commuters as they alighted. "Listen, guys, it's been nice knowing you, really, but I don't want to miss my train," she said, and began to slowly back away from them. "See ya!" she waved, regarding them haughtily, and then burst into a run towards the carriage.

The two Cybertronian mechs watched her go as she mingled with the rest of the commuters who were queuing to board the carriage. "Should we follow her?" Rook asked.

Astro shook his head. "I don't think we're going to get much more out of that femme." He turned to Rook. "Come on, I think I know the place she was talking about."

The smaller mech remained deep in thought, and then inquired with incredulousness. "She knows Sentinel Prime?"

"She knows a lot of mechs," Astro replied, and began to lead the way out of the subway terminal as Rook kept pace behind him.

* * *

As Astrotrain shot straight up into the air and out of sight over the top of the dome structure, the two femmes made their way around to the front, walking straight up to the four guards.

"Hey, fellas," Elita One began. "Looks like you've been asleep on the job."

"You two aren't supposed to be here. Come with us!" the guards said, startled, and showed their weapons as they began to walk towards her, but Elita stepped safely out of their reach.

Unperturbed by their reaction, the leader femme placed one hand on her hip. "You've got bigger problems." One of the guards gave her a stern look, and she pointed up towards the top of the dome. "There's someone up there."

The four guards looked up, and that was all Elita needed to take the nearest guard bot by surprise. She executed a powerful, precise spinning kick, her foot impacting his face and sending him reeling backwards. In the same instant, Chromia performed a jumping front kick, her heel making contact with a second guard's chin, snapping his head back and throwing him off his feet. Before the remaining two guards had an opportunity to defend themselves, the femmes drew their weapons and blasted them. Meanwhile, the sound of metal being torn apart could be heard from somewhere on top of the dome.

Once Elita was certain that all four guard bots were deactivated, she sprinted towards the nearby transport platform in pursuit of the sentry bots stationed there, but they had already witnessed the skirmish and were retreating from her advance. She slowed to a stop, watching them as they used the platform to descend below ground. Chromia ran up behind her, catching up. She shook her head in exasperation, speaking to her second in command. "I can't believe we're doing this." She turned back around, and the two sprinted back to the main entrance. "If he doesn't show up in the next thirty seconds, I'm personally going to hunt him down and hand him his aft."

"He'll show up," Chromia replied as she arrived at the entrance, while Elita unsuccessfully attempted to open the doors. The button on the side panel wouldn't grant her access, though she kept trying, more in irritation than anything else.

Elita finally gave up, leaned with her back against the door. "What makes you so sure?"

Chromia shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe you're right; maybe this was all just a bad idea. I mean, who'd ever thought we'd be stealing energy, of all things?"

The pink femme looked at her disparagingly. "Chrome, we're not _stealing_ , we're–" She looked for the right word, but couldn’t find it. "Ok." She sighed. "But what other choice do we have?"

The door she was leaning against began to open, and she leaped away and turned around, weapon drawn.

"Alright, all's clear." It was Astrotrain. He had kept his word. He waved them inside impatiently. "I'd say we've got about less than five minutes all up. Come on, don't just stand there!"

Chromia gave her best friend a discreet smile of relief, as the pink femme ran inside the dome. She followed quickly after them, as Astrotrain closed the door behind her and then proceeded to show them the way through the multi-tiered structure. He headed towards a wide, spiral staircase and began to climb the flight of steps as the femmes kept pace with him. Spread about the floor nearby lay four deactivated guards.

Near the top of the dome, they saw that the primary accumulator was housed in an enclosure. Astrotrain forced the panel open, detached the collector pipe and then began siphoning energy directly into his energy absorber, underneath a panel on his chest. When he was finished, he offered the pipe to Elita One, and she and Chromia began collecting the energy into compressed storage units with a small converter she had brought with her.

A few minutes later they heard commotion coming from below, and were alerted to security guards rushing into the building and spreading out to search the area. "Up there!" one of the security bots called out, alerting the others, and several of them ran up the steps after the three intruders.

"Time's up," Astrotrain said as he transformed into his shuttle mode, leaving his side door open for the two femmes. "We're out of here."

"Almost done," Elita One called out behind her as two guards reached the top level, pointing their weapons towards them. She knew that although the three of them could easily take out these guard bots, they would very soon be joined by several more and would eventually have them cornered.

She detached the pipe from the converter, and then Chromia helped her move their cargo into the shuttle as several of the guards began blasting at them with their laser weapons. Chromia responded with a shot from her launcher, temporarily disrupting the team of bots and sending them into disarray. The two femmes jumped aboard, as Astrotrain closed his hatch and lifted off into the air. He headed straight up towards the thin ceiling that held the large accumulator tube in place through the very center at the top of the dome. A hole had already been punched through the ceiling.

As Elita looked out through the main view screen, the laser blasts continued to shoot up at them through the ceiling hole. She shook her head in disbelief. "I can't believe we're doing this," she said again.

"Doing what?" her friend queried.

Elita looked at her. "Trusting a 'Con," she answered, her voice barely audible.

Chromia shrugged. "Stranger things have happened, I guess."

"I heard that, you know," Astrotrain said, as he moved effortlessly through the air. The break of day was just beginning to light up the horizon, as Alternity City's adopted giant star rose to greet them.

Elita ignored his comment, instead changed the topic. "You lied to us. You've never been inside that building before, have you?" she challenged.

Astrotrain was quiet for a while before responding. "I never said I'd been inside _that_ one before. Besides, I got you both in, didn't I?"

"Pfft, typical," Elita scoffed, off-hand.

Chromia gave her a doubtful look. "He _did_ help us, Elita. That's got to count for something, right?" she said in a low voice.

Astrotrain’s sonorous voice cut in. "So, where to now?"

"Anywhere's fine by us," Elita replied, not wanting to give away the location of their temporary base.

"Suit yourself," the space shuttle said as he began to drop down out of the sky, veering towards a side alley. He landed gently and opened the door to let them out. Once they had both disembarked, he transformed back into his robot mode and looked around, checking for any sign of trouble. The area seemed to be safe enough. He watched as they transformed and sped down the alleyway without saying another word. Then, as soon as they had turned a corner and were out of sight he headed in the opposite direction.

* * *

The sub-sector tunnel system in Antihex was much like the one in Polyhex; a confusing web of unwelcoming, gloomy passageways. At least, that's what it felt like to Sideswipe, as he raced in vehicle mode along the transit-route that led from Iacon's south to an outer region of Antihex. For several breems he had followed the freight vehicle that carried the two Neutrals down the tunnel until he reached an access point that terminated just outside some kind of large storage compound. As the freight car came to a stop some distance away, he silently transformed back into his robot mode and hid inside a small recess set into the nearby wall. As he watched in silence, the two Neutrals disembarked from their vehicle and began to unload sealed containers into the adjacent storage area. Once their task was completed, the empty freight carriage continued along the transit route, quickly disappearing out of sight.

Sideswipe kept his gaze fixed upon the open door to the storage area, which looked like a vast storehouse filled with crates and more sealed containers, and contemplated his next move. Having kept a safe distance from the Neutrals whilst simply observing them for so many years, he felt he'd finally hit a stone wall. If he wanted to gain a much deeper insight into what was truly going on with the Alliance, he would have to take a few risks, and this situation could prove to be just the opportunity he needed to get a little closer. He took a few moments to formulate some kind of strategy in his head and then inhaled slowly, deeply, before pushing off the recess wall and walking directly up to the open doorway.

The inside of the storage area consisted of rows of shelving units and cargo bays. He made his way toward a shelf to his right, and saw that it was filled with reinforced containers. He picked one up and examined it, noticed that there was no designation mark attached to it, which was, in itself, unusual. Storage containers back in Iacon always carried an identity seal and a corresponding designation mark, but these appeared to have neither; nor was he able to open the container.

Hearing distant voices coming from the far side of the room, he placed the container back on the shelf. The two Neutrals he had followed were speaking to a third, who sounded like he was giving them orders; probably their superior, Unit 4-0-2, Sideswipe thought with sarcasm. He began to slowly walk towards them and, as they looked up to see who was approaching, he put on his most charming smile. "Hi there!" he greeted, as they looked at him circumspectly. "Listen, uh, I must have gotten a little lost. I'm really sorry, and I hate to bother you and all, but… maybe one of you could help me out?"

One of the Neutrals spoke in a low voice to his comrade. "He must be one of the recruits." Then he addressed Sideswipe. "You're in the wrong sector, Autobot. All non-Neutral recruits are to assemble at the ancillary headquarters."

Sideswipe's optics lit up in feigned excitement. "Oh! Of course. I don't know how I ever got that one wrong. Um…" He scratched his neck in a show of puzzlement. "Ancillary headquarters?"

"Yeah. Just keep following the tunnel; it'll be the next large building you see, to the left," the Neutral informed him, indicating back towards the transit route with his finger.

The red and black Autobot nodded gratefully. "Oh, 'kay. Thank you, thank you so much," he said, as he started to step away from them. "You've been a great help! I owe you guys one," he finished, with a smile and wave. Breaking into a jog, he headed back through the open doorway and turned left out of sight.

* * *

The small team of Autobots kept on the main road that led to Darkmount for almost an hour. The landscape seemed deserted, as if it had been abandoned long ago, and for a good while Ratchet thought that they'd never encounter another living mech, let alone any Decepticons. But another part of him half expected that they would be ambushed at any moment, or that they would be forced to battle against Devastator.

Ratchet and his team came to a stop behind Optimus, as their leader approached the end of the road. Behind them he could see four Neutral backup teams waiting and ready to assist, should the Autobots have need of them.

A large, solitary tower stood against the clear sky in front of them. A tall, thin spire at its top pointed upwards, reaching into Cybertron's atmosphere like a giant needle piercing into the heavens. The former ruins of Darkmount fortress, ancient remnants that had occupied this very same spot for several millennia, had obviously been removed. The location looked nothing like what Ratchet remembered.

"Hm, the Constructicons have been busy," Optimus stated aloud to no one in particular. He paused for a moment in silence before issuing his next orders to his senior officers. "Let's remain cautious. Ratchet, you and Hot Rod go around to the left. Trailbreaker, you and Bluestreak go right. I'm going to see if there's any way inside that tower. We'll all meet back here." He paused again, and then reminded them, "Remember, let's try to avoid any traps, and stay on guard."

Ratchet nodded. "We'll try, Optimus." He and Hot Rod began to head towards the side of the structure, scanning for any sign of life or activity as they went. While Hot Rod kept pace beside him, the Neutral teams held their positions, standing on the alert and ready. "This is unusual. The readings I'm getting don't indicate that there's anything here at all. It's almost as if the whole structure just doesn't exist."

His orange and red Autobot companion looked up at the large tower in puzzlement, and then slowly approached its featureless, metallic wall. "Huh – that's odd." He extended one hand, ran it along the smooth surface. "Feels real enough," he commented.

"I can't seem to pick up any power emanations of any kind," Ratchet continued. "I just don't get it."

"Do you think it's some kind of a decoy?" Hot Rod asked.

Ratchet shrugged. "Could be. Come on, let's–" he replied, but was startled by a strange sound. He looked around warily, expecting an enemy attack, but saw nothing unusual. Then a glimpse of something moving in the distance, a metallic gleam, caught his attention. "Over there! I thought I saw something," he said to Hot Rod, and motioned for the two of them to investigate further ahead.

Hot Rod raced in front and then disappeared around the back of the tower. Ratchet began to follow him as he rescanned the area, but his readings still showed nought. "Hot Rod, wait up–" As he approached the rear of the structure, he stopped short. "Hot Rod?" he repeated, but this time his tone expressed confoundment.

The scenery that greeted him was nothing like what he had expected. In front of him a flat, metallic landscape stretched out as far as he could see. There were no other structures to speak of, no roads or transit routes, no subterranean access points. All the ruins of what once used to be Darkmount fortress seemed to have completely vanished, replaced by the stark, metallic plain. What worried him most of all, however, was that Hot Rod was nowhere to be seen.

Ratchet motioned for one of the backup teams to move closer while he retraced his steps; perhaps his partner had followed the tower right around and had returned back to their starting position. However, even before Ratchet had fully considered this possibility he had already dismissed it as unlikely.

Two Neutral teams hovered around the front, looking uncertain. Ratchet approached them and demanded to know what was going on. "Where's Optimus?" he said, looking around.

One of the Neutrals hesitated in his reply. "I don't understand it. One minute he was just here, and then the next…" The look of confusion upon his face was genuine, and Ratchet shook his head. He continued on around to the other side of the tower. Perhaps Optimus had decided to team up with Trailbreaker; he could think of no other explanation for the apparent disappearance.

As the other side of the tower came into view, the repair specialist slowed to a stop and slowly looked around. It felt as if he were experiencing a bad dream; not only did he find himself right in the heart of Decepticon territory, but now his Autobot team mates were suddenly nowhere to be seen. How was this possible?

Bewildered and at a loss as to what to do next, a sudden sensation that felt like suspended animation overtook him without warning.

* * *

The auxiliary headquarters in Antihex were easy enough to find. Stepping off the transit route, Sideswipe arrived at an empty courtyard that led to a modern looking building. It featured a large, golden metallic plaque fashioned into the Neutral emblem right above its entranceway doors. He got as far as the steps in front of the building before he started to have second thoughts. Perhaps this wasn't such a good idea, after all. What if he were treated with hostility? He knew that officially, Autobots and Neutrals shared a common goal and had entered into a formal agreement to take responsibility for the safeguarding of the planet. Yet he couldn't help the feeling that, as an uninvited Autobot, he wouldn't be welcome here.

Stopping in front of the doors, he noticed immediately that he would require an input code to get inside. Hesitating, he recalled his former Autobot security code, which he had not used since he had been dismissed from active service in the Autobot army soon after the end of the Great War, and he strongly doubted that it would work, but he had nothing to lose in trying. He was about to press the buttons on the keypad to input the code when the doors slid open and a mech walked out of the building. He offered the Neutral a curt nod and a smile, and then quickly slipped past him and inside the structure before the doors sealed closed again.

The interior of the building consisted of multi-levelled open spaces, unlike the Command Center in Iacon. Upon a second level platform, a large Neutral stood looking down at a small assembly of non-Neutral mechanoids. They all looked like typical Autobots, though he was not able to get a clear view of their faction symbols or their faces, as they all had their backs turned to him. Sideswipe did not immediately recognize any of them, though that was probably due to the fact that they were all new recruits, as he himself had been referred to only a short while ago; however, there was something about the group that just didn't sit right with him. Why would the Neutrals be recruiting Autobots? He looked down at his own red faction emblem in the middle of his chest – an instant reminder of all he had been through since the Great War and the start of the New Era, but also of the future battles he had yet to face. Instinctively he crossed his arms and looked out across the small gathering. Sauntering closer to the crowd, he attempted to fit in as the Neutral prepared his speech. Then, once a few more bots had entered the building, the group quietened down to hear the announcement.

"It is no accident that you are all here. Each and every one of you will have a very important role to play in the coming days." The Neutral paused dramatically as he observed his mesmerised audience. His voice was authoritative, the very sound of it commanding absolute respect from his followers. "And each of you will play your part to perfection. That is why you are here. Let there be no mistake. Yes, you are Autobot, yet you have all been summoned to a higher calling. Each and every one of you has been especially chosen to become a part… of the new revolution!" His voice increased in volume, and it seemed to resonate all around the large interior of the building. "A revolution that will change the very foundations of all that you have ever known. From this day forth, you will continue to go about your daily tasks, resuming your function amongst the Autobots… and await your orders. The coming of the new Supremacy draws inevitably closer, and you have all been entrusted to ensure that our secret remains safe, until that day… when Autobot… or Decepticon… is no more."

Sideswipe had to keep the sudden shock and anger that threatened to overwhelm him under control. He shook his head, looking away from the speaker as he struggled to comprehend what he had just heard. The crowd remained fixated upon the Neutral as he raised a fist in the air, glancing from one Autobot to the next in smug satisfaction. When the speaker's attention eventually focused upon Sideswipe his smile slowly faded, and was replaced by an expression of caution and irritation. He waved at one of his assistants, who nodded and then rushed towards the platform that led down to the ground floor.

"Uh, _slag_ ," Sideswipe uttered in a quiet whisper. His cover had been blown, and he needed to get out of there fast. He headed towards the entrance doors, but they were sealed closed. Glancing behind him, he saw that the assistant had been joined by three others, and were steadily heading his way. Realizing that he wouldn't be able to escape through the doors, he approached the Autobot crowd instead, addressing them. "Why are you allowing this to happen? They're using you! Don't you see that? What the slag is wrong with you all?" he shouted, trying to get their attention, and they turned to face him. For a moment it looked as though Sideswipe might get through to them. "You're _Autobots_ , for Primus' sake – don't listen to _them_!" he continued, pointing towards the Neutrals, who had now surrounded the crowd. As they started to close in on him he backed away from them, taking cover in amongst the crowd.

Their superior pointed down towards Sideswipe from where he stood on the second level, giving orders to those below. "Don't let him get away!"

All of a sudden, Sideswipe found himself fending off a multitude of arms as both Autobots and Neutrals sought to grab hold of him. He ducked to avoid their grasp and fortunately was quicker than the Autobots, but ultimately it was his anger and his skills as a fine warrior that had allowed him to evade their clutches.

Noticing the main doors beginning to open, he pushed his way through the crowd and bolted towards them. A startled Autobot moved away from the entrance as Sideswipe rushed past him. Without looking back, he transformed into his vehicular mode and sped away from the building, covering the empty square outside within a matter of seconds before he swerved onto the transit route and disappeared.

* * *

The sensation had lasted only a few micro seconds, though Ratchet could have sworn that an eternity could have passed and he'd never have known it. He had not been ready for what confronted him when he awoke – though, in hindsight, he supposed that it hadn't been entirely unexpected, considering that his team of Autobots and accompanying Neutrals had encroached into the heart of known Decepticon territory uninvited, despite the recent reclamation of the province for the Alliance following the new directive to outlaw their enemy.

He picked himself up from the floor after he’d regained consciousness, and looked around. Energy bars immediately surrounded him in a circular prison, though it was too dark for him to see anything clearly beyond them. The rough ceiling above him looked to be made of an alloy-enhanced rock. He cycled his visual range through from infra-red to x-ray, but it still didn't help; even his scans came up blank. It was as if there was nothing really there. He reached out to touch the energy bars in puzzlement, but then pulled his hand away as a sudden jolt of plasma energy scrambled the micro circuits in his hand.

"Like a turbo-rat caught in a steel trap," a voice suddenly echoed within the quiet chamber.

Ratchet turned about, looking for the owner of the voice. He did not see anybody there, though he thought the voice sounded vaguely familiar. "Who said that?" he said, growling. "Show yourself." There was no response, so the Autobot repair specialist prodded further. "What's the matter – too afraid?"

"You Autobots aren't too smart," the voice said again. Then its owner revealed himself, stepping forward and stopping just short of the bars. The soft glow that emanated from the columns of energy was enough to illuminate the immediate surroundings, including the smaller mechanoid.

The Autobot looked down upon him in obvious disapproval. "Rumble, what's going on here? Where are the others?" he demanded inimically.

"What others?" the smaller robot replied.

"Don't play stupid with me. What have you done with them? Let me speak to Prime." Ratchet's voiced conveyed what he felt; impatience, irritability, and the feeling of having been cheated.

Rumble stood looking up at him, his red visor hiding his optics – and with them any expression that might have given away his thoughts and feelings. He shook his head. "Sorry, but that's not up to me."

"Now you listen here. Get me out of this cage right this cycle, or you're going to wish you'd never been sparked," the white and red Autobot threatened.

"Hey, you should never have come here," Rumble replied defensively.

Ratchet crossed his arms in front of his chest, and grimaced. He was obviously not going to get any meaningful answers from this obnoxious Decepticon mini spy, so he tried a different approach. "You know, I never thought I'd see the likes of you again. Thought you and your ilk didn't survive the War." A moment of silence fell between them before he spoke again. "Soundwave _did_ survive, didn't he?"

Rumble shrugged. "What do you care?"

Ratchet shook his head in disbelief, as if Rumble's answer exactly proved his long-held belief that all Decepticons were the same; conceited and self-serving. "I don't get it. You're all so darned determined to get your way; you'll go to any means to do it." Ratchet was finding it harder and harder to keep his anger and frustration under control.

Although he had never held a personal grudge against Rumble, the blue Decepticon did, nevertheless, represent the despised enemy faction. Decepticons had not only been at the very heart of the Great Wars but had also, somehow, brought the Dark Plague upon them all. To Ratchet, Rumble also represented the very reason why so many Autobots during that time had tragically lost their lives, often under terrifying, and sometimes highly circumspect, conditions. "You've no regard for Cybertronian life – you're all murderous thieves…" He trailed off, aware that if he continued he'd break into a fit of rage, and that's the last thing he wanted to do right now; show the enemy any weakness.

Rumble was about to open his mouth to say something in response, but then thought better of it. Perhaps it was best he wait until one of the other Decepticons had a talk with the Autobot. Of course, the accusations that had just spouted from Ratchet's mouth gave him more than enough reason to want to deactivate the unwelcome visitor right here and now, but he had heard it all before and, in a way, had gotten used to it, had learned not to react so much.

He decided that the Autobot wasn't worth it, turned and began to leave when Ratchet spoke again. "Tell me something. Do you actually enjoy it?" His voice had lost its aggression, though there remained an underlying derision and repulsion that was aimed directly at the Decepticons. "Do you enjoy watching your victims suffer as you drain the last traces of energon from their frames? Or how about watching their life sparks slowly being extinguished as you laugh in their faces?" The chamber fell quiet once again as neither of them moved until, finally, Rumble slowly turned around to face him again. Behind him, a larger, blue and white Decepticon emerged from the darkened recesses of the chamber. "Well, I'm glad to see you’re both doing fine," Ratchet said with obvious sarcasm, addressing the larger Decepticon as his frustration surfaced once more. "Now, get me the frag _out of here_!"

Soundwave's red visor and face mask made it impossible for the Autobot medic to determine his intentions, which bothered him more than he cared to admit. He realized then just how many Decepticons actually wore a battle mask compared to Autobots he'd known, who rarely did; he had always believed that to do so was generally a sign of disrespect amongst his kind, and a privilege that should only be reserved for the Prime.

"First, we have a message for you Autobots." It was Rumble’s turn to speak, though this time his voice had taken on a much more serious tone that hadn't been there before. "Go tell your Alliance that we won't back down, and we won't surrender. Don't try coming back here again, 'cause if you do, we _will_ do whatever we have to do to defend ourselves." Once he’d spoken, he stepped back into the shadows.

"Hey, now wait just a minute, come back here–" the Autobot called out after him, but it was too late; the two Decepticons had already vanished back into the darkness just as quickly as they had appeared, and he found himself alone again in the chamber.

A few more seconds went by, and then that sensation of non-physicality and timelessness, as if he were travelling beyond the reaches of time and space itself, unexpectedly enveloped him once more.

* * *

Optimus Prime recovered quickly from a sudden sensation of being in an altered state of consciousness. The experience had come upon him without warning; all he knew was that one moment he was approaching the tower and then the next he was inside a small, well-lit, empty room with polished metallic surfaces. The side of the room that he found himself in was enclosed behind energy bars, and directly across from him a sealed door appeared to be the only exit. He had no idea where he was or how he'd gotten to be here, although if he had to hazard a guess he would say that the Decepticons had used some kind of teleportation technology that he had not been aware they possessed. He was probably still in Polyhex, though to assume any more than that would just be mere speculation.

His first reaction was to activate a com channel in an attempt to contact the rest of his team. "Trailbreaker, Ratchet. Do you read me?" He was greeted with nothing but silence, not even the familiar static that sometimes filtered through a normal broadcast. "Trailbreaker?" He tried one more time before realizing that he was essentially alone, cut off from any means of communication, and he wondered with regret whether the rest of his team had not fallen into the same trap.

He berated himself for not having anticipated the possibility of such a covert ambush. Had he underestimated the enemy's capabilities, their strategies, their resources? Perhaps he had become overly complacent, had relied too much upon the Autobot-Neutral Alliance to keep the Decepticon threat under control. As he replayed these thoughts over in his mind while looking for a possible way out of his current predicament, the door on the opposite side of the room silently slid open. He watched as several Decepticons entered, and immediately recognized each one. It did not surprise him in the least to see them all here now; the Decepticon leader himself, followed by all six of the Constructicons.

He walked up to the bars, as close as he could get without touching them. "What have you done with the rest of my team?" he demanded, not wasting a moment.

"I've done nothing with them," Megatron replied, speaking calmly yet deliberately. He stepped closer towards the Autobot leader, stopped short in front of him. The Constructicons remained where they were, quietly observing the exchange. "Why did you come here?" the Decepticon leader demanded.

Optimus looked at him defiantly. "Let me speak to them," he said simply.

"The same way you allowed Scavenger the same privilege?" Megatron replied. The mentioned Constructicon watched with apprehension while Scrapper and Mixmaster stood protectively on either side of him.

"That's not the same thing, Megatron," Optimus returned, glancing towards the former prisoner. "Scavenger has been condemned for the serious assault of an Autobot. Or did he fail to mention that?"

"Oh, _yes_ … condemned." The Decepticon leader slowly paced the small room along the outside of the bars. He took his time before responding, facing away from the Prime. "For being a Decepticon."

"There were no other mechs sighted in the vicinity around the time of the attack," Optimus defended in anger, and at that same moment he heard Jazz's words in his mind, as clearly as though his First Lieutenant was standing right beside him.

' _Prime, what if I were to tell you that Scavenger wasn't the one who attacked Groove?'_

"Your arrogance blinds you." Megatron turned back towards him, slowly pacing until he stood in front of him again. "If you really want to know what happened to Groove, perhaps you should ask Sentinel Prime." He paused, observing the Autobot leader's reaction. Optimus gave nothing away; it helped that his battle mask covered most of his facial features. Megatron continued speaking. "I'll keep this brief. The Neutrals have no business within Cybertron Command, just as the High Council had no business issuing their directive against us. By doing so, they have broken an agreement. So, if a war is what they are after, then that is exactly what they will get."

"What agreement?" Optimus asked, genuinely confused by Megatron’s words.

The Decepticon leader disregarded the question. "That no longer matters. What matters is that if you know what's good for you and your Autobots, you'll stay out of Polyhex and put an end to your Alliance with the Neutrals."

Optimus' blue optics remained fixed upon Megatron. "You know I can't do that. Don't turn this into another war, Megatron. You won't survive!" It sounded almost as if he were pleading with him, hoping against hope that it would never have to come to that.

"You really don't get it, do you?" Megatron's tone was stern, determined. "The Autobots are nothing more than collateral in your Alliance and you are too proud, too foolish, to see it." It seemed that he would say something more, but instead he turned and started to walk away.

"Wait, Megatron," the Autobot leader called after him. "If you’ll allow Scavenger to return with us to Iacon… I will do my best to convince the High Council that he should be given a full trial, if you and the rest of the Decepticons will leave Cybertron. At least that way, there's still a chance."

The Decepticon leader stood with his back turned to him, and for a while he seemed to be contemplating Optimus' offer. But after several long seconds he gave Optimus his answer. "I've negotiated with them once before… to overturn a conviction. It won't work a second time." Then he exited the small room without looking back. The Constructicons quietly followed him out and, as the door closed behind them, Optimus stared at the empty space in front of him, alone again with his thoughts.


	8. Chapter 8

Sideswipe kept to the narrow side roads on his way back to Iacon. He needed time to process what he had just witnessed in Antihex, and to decide his next move. He had long suspected that the Neutrals were keeping up a front; he had known that they were not as impartial or altruistic as they wanted everybody to believe, but he had never imagined such a dangerous, clandestine agenda underlying their true motives.

It was only a short while later, as Iacon’s iconic Command Center came into view before him, that he was able to fully comprehend just how much the Autobots were in danger. However, the danger did not come from any Decepticon this time – no, the reality was much more sinister than that, and not just because it all seemed to be unfolding right under their very noses – the worrisome part was that very few, if any, Autobots had any clue about what was actually going on. There were so many new questions that he needed to have answered but, also, so many questions that he _could_ now answer. The Neutrals were the one piece of the whole puzzle that had never seemed to fit together just right. Until now.

Speeding ahead, he engaged his brakes a little too late as he approached the grand entrance and overshot his mark.

“Hey, watch it!” a gruff voice called out, and he realized with annoyance that it was a mini-bot. He had almost run him over in his vehicle mode – a sleek, red hover car. Transforming into his robot mode, he approached the mech with the intention of offering him an apology. “Why don't you watch where you're going?” the mini-bot reprimanded him.

“Look, I'm sorry, but I didn't see you and–” Sideswipe stopped in front of him, looked down upon his much shorter frame. He could have intimidated him easily enough, if he'd had the inclination.

“Yeah? Save it for someone who cares.” The tough-talking mech was already in a foul mood, and their minor altercation had only made things worse.

He was beginning to test Sideswipe's patience. “You know what? That's just fine with me, Brawn,” he replied and then started to turn away, heading towards the large, double doors that led into the Command Center within Iacon Central.

“Hey! I remember you,” the mini-bot called out after him and Sideswipe hesitated, turned back. “You’re that Side- _slagger_ ,” he mocked.

The sound of his voice made Sideswipe want to cringe. “It’s Side- _swipe_ , and if I’d known it was you I would have just run you over!” he shot back.

“Oh, yeah – well, I dare ya!” Brawn replied, placing his hands on his hips, and then paused in thought, appraising him. “Didn't think you had the mettle to show your face around here again.”

Sideswipe couldn't believe Brawn's blatant insensitivity; if that was how he truly felt, the least he could have done was keep his unwanted remarks to himself. Sideswipe opened his mouth to say something in reply, but then changed his mind. Instead, he shook his head in disbelief and started to walk away again. He didn't need this right now; he had bigger problems to deal with.

“What’s the matter – forgotten how to act like a true warrior?” Brawn continued to taunt him as he watched the taller Autobot walk away.

Sideswipe couldn’t listen to him; the nerve of that mini-bot was proving to be too much and he spun around, shouted back at him. “Why don’t you go and stick your head in the waste processor, Brawn? I don’t have time for your slag.” Brawn stared back at him critically, but made no further comment.

Sideswipe turned his back toward him one more time and continued on his way. He didn't stop until he reached the double doors to Iacon Central, making his way determinedly up the wide steps. He input his security code at the door panel, half-expecting to be denied entry and, sure enough, was confronted with an error message from Teletraan II. He looked about, pausing for an instant before attempting the same code a second time. Receiving the same error message, he slammed an open hand against the door, leaned against it in frustration. “Come on, open up,” he tried to coax it, but he knew that it was a pointless exercise.

‘Please enter your security code,’ the central computer requested, ever patient.

“Apparently, I no longer have one,” he said aloud, and then shook his head. He began to head back down the steps, looking for an alternative means of getting inside the Command Center, but was stopped by a friendly voice from behind him.

“The codes were all changed.” He turned back around to see the welcome sight of Arcee. “Here, maybe I can help.” She walked up to the doors and input her code. The doors slid open without issue.

“Thanks!" he said, and smiled at her warmly. “It's sure good to see _you_ again.”

She smiled back at him, led the way inside. “And why is that?” she teased.

“Uh, no reason.” He glanced back towards Brawn, but the mini-bot was nowhere in sight.

Thankfully, she changed the subject. “So, have you decided to rejoin the ranks, then?”

“What?” Sideswipe started, confused, but then quickly caught on. “Oh, well, no. Not exactly.” She waited expectantly for him to continue, and an awkward silence followed before he explained further. “Actually, I need to speak to Prime about something.”

“Optimus isn’t here at the moment, but you can speak to Prowl instead?” Arcee accompanied him up a few levels until she came to a stop in the hallway that led through to the control room. “Well, here we are. You’ll need proper authorisation to enter beyond this point,” she informed him in a friendly manner.

He nodded, and thought that her optics expressed a subtle, unexplained sadness, despite her cheerful manner. “Thanks. Really. For everything.” He looked about the brightly lit hall, and memories of times now past came flooding back into his main processor. “I can’t believe how much things have changed since I was here last.”

“That's exactly what I thought, too.” Arcee looked at him empathically. Her expression showed slight concern, though she didn't make any further comment.

Sideswipe paused, and returned her gaze. “Arcee… I'm sorry, where are my manners?” He sighed, shook his head. “I completely forgot to ask about you. How have you been?”

She shrugged, smiled again. “Great. Everyone's been so wonderful. I've been assigned to help out in the med bay. It's… kind of a dream come true for me, actually.”

“That's great. I'm happy for you, Arcee. I really am.”

She thought that he seemed distant, his thoughts a million miles away. “Is there anything I can do to help?” she asked him, her voice soothing.

“I’m not sure.” He focused his gaze upon her once more, deciding whether he should confide in her before he spoke to the Autobot higher-ups about the traitorous Alliance. Right now, she was the only Autobot he knew that he could really trust. “I–” He shook his head, looking away. “I don’t know how to tell you this, Arcee.” He still wasn’t certain himself about the implications of sharing what he’d just learned about the Neutrals and the Autobots in Antihex who had joined them. Letting the other Iaconian Autobots know would most likely create a division among them; some would undoubtedly fight to stay with the Alliance, whilst others would bravely face the truth of the situation, whether they liked it or not. He was almost certain that there would be consequences to blowing the cover on the Neutrals’ agenda that he hadn’t even considered yet.

She nodded in understanding, ever patient. “When I’m having difficulty with something I find that, sometimes… the best way to deal with the situation is to just come straight out and say it.”

Sideswipe contemplated her words, took his time doing so. He respected her, not just as an ally but also as a good friend. He inhaled deeply, and then exhaled slowly. “Okay. I think… the Autobots have made a huge mistake.”

Arcee nodded, listening carefully as he spoke, genuinely interested in what he had to say. She did not want him to feel uncomfortable; it was obvious that something weighed heavily on his mind and, whatever it was, she sensed the seriousness of it. He would not have come back to Iacon Central otherwise. She let him continue.

“Forming an alliance with the Neutrals. They’re bad news, Arcee – real bad news. And I think we might all be in danger.”

A look of consternation crossed her face as she tried to make sense of what he had just told her. He did not need to convince her of the truth of his words, nor did she need to know all the details about what he may have seen or heard recently that had caused him to come to such a drastic conclusion. She lowered her voice, placed a hand on his arm. “I’ll go and find Prowl. Will you be alright to wait here? I shouldn’t be too long.”

“Sure,” he said, taking another deep inhale. “Go ahead; I’ll wait here.”

“Okay,” she replied, and then started across the hall towards the control room, her steps quick and light.

Sideswipe waited in the hall, watching her go until she disappeared from sight.

* * *

Optimus had been kept almost an hour in the holding cell. Being isolated from the rest of the Autobots was difficult enough, but not knowing where they were, or even if they were still alive, was something that he could barely tolerate much longer. His thoughts kept returning to recent events; Elita and her crew's sudden departure from Cybertron; Jazz's consequential actions against the High Council's directive; Groove's critical condition back at Iacon; and now, the immediate danger to his small team of Autobots, who had more than likely also been captured by the Decepticons.

So when Megatron eventually re-entered the small room, this time unaccompanied, he felt a certain sense of relief, despite the circumstances. As the leader of the rival faction stood before the cell’s energy bars, Optimus couldn’t help but try to fathom what the other was thinking behind the strong, red glow of his optic sensors.

“I have listened to your proposition, Optimus Prime… and now you will listen to mine,” Megatron said, his tone steady, uncompromising. Optimus faced him but said nothing, allowing him to speak. “I have tried to reason with you on several occasions, and all for nothing. So, instead, I’m going to give you a choice, which is simply this: give me your word that no Decepticon shall come to any harm at the hands of the Alliance – and, in return, I shall allow your Autobot companions to go free… along with the Neutrals who accompanied you here. Or, you can refuse and discover for yourself what happens next.”

The Autobot leader looked back at his long-time adversary with restrained anger, though he was not surprised at the other's proposition – in fact, he should have expected something like it. “You know I can't ensure the safety of any Decepticon – especially if they continue to violate the rulings of Cybertron's governance agreement. Why don't you just let my team go? You have me… isn't that enough?”

Megatron shook his head in mock disappointment. “What use are you to me alone, Optimus Prime? I simply wish to ensure the safety and well-being of those under my command. Surely you, yourself, can understand that. But, if you do not give me your word… well, then… I cannot guarantee the safety and well-being of your own team.”

Optimus exhaled in frustration, turned away from him. Considering his options, he realized that the lives of his friends and fellow officers depended upon the decision that he was about to make. After a long moment in thought, he turned slowly around to face Megatron once more. “What's to stop me from simply going back on my word, the minute you've released us?”

The question was not one that the Autobot Prime Commander would have usually asked. Megatron held out his hands in a conversational gesture, palms open. “You are free to take that course of action, if you wish. Although, I hardly expect a Prime's promise to be without integrity or honour, and worth nothing. Only you, and your conscience, must bear the consequence of such an act.”

As much as Optimus hated to admit it, Megatron was right. He _could_ make a false promise, give his word without any intention of honouring it afterwards; but, was he prepared to live with such a dishonourable act? As the Autobot's Prime Commander, speaking truth had always been synonymous with fighting for freedom and justice; values that he was not prepared to put aside for anyone, not even now. He had an obligation, an established code of honour to uphold, and the current situation did not justify going against it. Megatron knew this, of course, and was using it against him to get what he wanted. It left him with little choice. “Very well; I will instruct the Autobots under my command to cease enforcing the Council's directive. However, I have no power to tell the High Council or the Neutrals what to do in that regard.”

Megatron listened to his response, gave it serious consideration. “I accept your promise.” He gave a half-smile, satisfied that he had finally gained some ground with the Autobot leader. “I knew you'd make the right decision, Optimus Prime.”

The Decepticon leader left the room and, after a minute, Optimus felt the odd sensation of being teleported.

* * *

Sideswipe instinctively straightened as the Autobot Chief of Security appeared in the hallway from the main control center, accompanied by Arcee. Prowl slowed to a stop in front of him, looking him up and down as if he were appraising a new recruit. It made Sideswipe feel uncomfortable, but he refrained from commenting.

“Sideswipe,” Prowl greeted, his tone detached, formal. He gave a slight nod of his head. “It's good to have you back.”

He couldn’t determine the sincerity of Prowl’s words, nor was he able to determine what kind of response he was going to get after he’d said what he had come here to say. “Ah… yeah, look, I’m not here to…” Sideswipe hesitated, briefly glanced at Arcee for reassurance. She was smiling calmly back at him, her optics offering unwavering encouragement. He began again. “I’ve got to speak to Prime about the Alliance. It’s important.”

Prowl waited for him to continue, but when he didn't he prompted for more information. “I see. Prime is currently away on assignment, and has left me in charge.” He paused, contemplating the situation. “Whatever it is that you wish to tell him, you can tell me.”

Sideswipe nodded affirmatively. “Alright,” he responded. “Look, I just came here to warn you all…” He faltered, summoning the courage to speak what was on his mind.

“Just tell him what you told me, Sideswipe,” Arcee guided him gently, noticing his difficulty. “You'll do fine.”

He looked away momentarily before returning his gaze to Prowl’s reserved, expressionless face. Perhaps it was just a façade the Autobot second in command put on – his own way of masking deeply buried sentiments from a mental torment that he did not allow himself to acknowledge. Not a single warrior that he had ever known had been left untouched by the Great War, in one way or another. _You should never judge a bot by his color_ , his twin and brother, Sunstreaker, had always told him – or, in this case, by his lack of expression. He fought to push those memories out of his mind, not wanting to focus upon his own inner turmoil. “To tell you that the Alliance with the Neutrals has to end. They’ve been lying to you from the beginning. If you don’t do something now, it’ll be too late. They’re already planning a take over, even as we speak.”

“I see,” Prowl replied uncertainly. “Sideswipe, you are making an extremely serious accusation. You do realize that?” He did not doubt Sideswipe’s sincerity, or the fact that he truly believed what he was telling them; his main concern was whether the former Autobot warrior wasn’t deluding himself. Sideswipe looked confused by his remark and did not respond immediately, so he sighed, nodded. “Very well. Let us talk somewhere in private. Please, follow me,” he said, and then turned and started to walk back up the hall towards the control center.

Sideswipe hesitated, glancing at Arcee, before hurriedly catching up with the second in command.

* 

The door to the conference room closed as Prowl took a seat at the table. He indicated for Sideswipe to do the same, taking his time before speaking. “There’s no easy way to tell you this, Sideswipe, so I’ll be honest with you.” He sighed, exhaled slowly, carefully. “As I said earlier, the accusations you made are serious. Of course, we cannot disregard any important matter that comes to our attention… however, what you’re saying – you must understand that for the Alliance to even consider investigating the validity of such an accusation will require at least some plausible grounds.”

The room fell quiet as Sideswipe absorbed Prowl's words. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. “Wait – so… what you're telling me is, you're not going to do anything about it?”

Prowl sat back in his seat, folded his arms in front of him. “Not at all. In fact, if there's any truth to it you can rest assured that appropriate action will be taken.”

Sideswipe placed a hand under his chin in contemplation, looked down at the floor. “’If there’s any truth to it,’” he repeated. “You know, if I didn’t know you any better I’d say that you think I’m making it all up.” He looked up at Prowl whose his expression, as usual, was unreadable. “I _do_ know you better than that… right, Prowl?”

A tense moment of silence followed, and Sideswipe was beginning to feel that perhaps he might have a harder time getting his message across to Autobot Command than he had first thought. When Prowl spoke again, his tone was harsher. “You should be thankful that I’m even taking the time to listen to your as yet unsubstantiated stories. As non-military personnel, the Alliance is under no obligation to take what you say under advisement, let alone respond to your accusations.”

“Unsubstantiated stories?” Sideswipe rose slightly from his seat, his palms planted firmly down on the table top. “I can't believe what you're telling me, Prowl. What the hell's gotten into you?” The blue light of his optics dimmed slightly as anger and frustration began to well up inside him. “Did you not comprehend one word I said?”

Prowl did not appear intimidated at all by the former warrior; if anything, Sideswipe’s outburst only helped justify his own position. “Every word.” He stood up and walked towards a wall terminal, proceeded to monitor a data stream on a small display screen in front of him. His back was turned towards the estranged warrior as he spoke. “You are convinced that the Neutrals, and the Alliance, pose a threat to the Autobots. You have based this on the claim that they have been deceitful in their dealings with us, and that they are planning to undermine our joint leadership… which would, by the way, effectively cancel the governance agreement. The very agreement that has guaranteed – and continues to guarantee – all Cybertronians working together to safeguard against the Decepticons and their allies, as well as the sharing of all resources for our mutual benefit.” He paused, considering his next question carefully. “Can you give me one good reason why they would want to work against us?”

Sideswipe gave an exasperated sigh, slowly sat back down again. “Look, I have no idea _why_ – all I know is that it's the truth. I witnessed them talking about it with my own sensors – I was right there among them!”

Silence filled the room; and the uneasiness between the two was palpable. Prowl took his time answering, ignoring the agitated state of the other mech. Finally, he exhaled, slowly and deliberately. “There's also another consideration that needs to be dealt with. It concerns you, Sideswipe.”

This caused Sideswipe to look up at him with apprehension. He did not like where this conversation was heading. “Yeah, how so?”

Prowl stiffened, turning to face him again. “The circumstances of your dismissal from active duty–”

“I don’t see what that’s got anything to do with any of this,” Sideswipe rebutted quickly, cutting the other off mid-sentence.

“Please, let me finish.” Prowl's blue optical sensors gazed back at him; he emanated self-assuredness, and the authority that naturally came with his rank.

Sideswipe sighed, waving one hand dismissively as he looked away. “Go ahead.” There was nothing Prowl could tell him that he hadn’t already heard before, anyway.

Prowl spoke slowly and evenly for his benefit. “As I was saying, your dismissal from active duty occurred as a direct result of your unwillingness to cooperate with your superiors. You were spared the embarrassment of an officer’s review on compassionate grounds. However, in order for Cybertron Command to take your perspective into consideration, your past breach of our code of conduct will need to be re-evaluated.” He paused, sighed empathically. “Are you aware of what that would entail, Sideswipe?”

The former Autobot officer got up from his seat. “Yeah, I’m aware.” His tone was filled with disbelief and growing anger. “You know, I never thought I’d see the day when the Autobots place more importance on protocol than they do on the very real possibility of the destruction of our race!”

“Don’t you think you’re being just a little unreasonable–” Prowl interjected, beginning to lose his patience. He was spared from having to continue the conversation by an incoming alert on his communications link. “Excuse me one moment,” he said to Sideswipe, and activated the channel. “This is Prowl.” Silence followed as the message on the other end was conveyed to him in private. “I see. I’ll be there shortly.” Closing the link, he looked up at the red and black Autobot with a look that spoke of a sudden, untold tragedy and for the moment, at least, their disagreement was forgotten. He sighed in resignation. “I’m needed in the repair bay,” he informed Sideswipe as he decided what he should do with the troubled warrior. He couldn’t just turn him away; doing so now would only ensure that he would never return to Iacon Central again. Neither could he leave him alone in the command center without a valid security pass. His only other option was to keep him under his supervision – at least for the time being. “You are welcome to accompany me,” he offered finally, and then moved towards the door of the conference room, pressed a button on the access panel. As the door slid open he indicated patiently for Sideswipe to exit the room ahead of him, and they both started towards the maintenance and repair bay in silence.

* * *

Ratchet regained consciousness from what had felt like a long yet restless slumber. Disoriented, the first thing he became aware of was that he was lying flat on his back. He saw the familiar sight of Cybertron’s orange-tinged sky directly above him as the day began to give way to night. Sitting up warily, unsure of where he was or how he’d ended up here, the recent memory of his encounter with Rumble and Soundwave flooded back into his processor.

Looking about, he noticed that tall tower that occupied the former site of Darkmount fortress to his left – the same one that his team had been investigating before they had all been unexpectedly teleported to undisclosed locations. He stood up, checking his internal systems, and was relieved to find that he was functioning normally except for a slight energy drain from his power core. Then he remembered Optimus and the others who had arrived here with him, and realized that they were nowhere in sight.

However, something else caught his immediate attention then so he started away from the tower and towards the Neutrals. Each one of them was sprawled on the ground, unmoving. “What in the…” he uttered, astounded.

Many vorns of specialist repair experience took over and he rushed towards the nearest fallen bot, checking for vital signs. He spent a few moments with one only to move on to the next, and then the next; after checking several of the Neutrals he stopped, stepped back a little.

The scene before him reminded him of the disturbing eeriness that always followed a devastating massacre, except that every Neutral on this battle field had not been massacred; he had simply been off-lined, and drained of his primary energon reserves. Each would need to be transported back to a maintenance facility for refuelling, but there was nothing that a full recharge couldn’t fix, other than battered pride. He sent out a general assistance broadcast, waited for acknowledgment.

The manner in which four teams of Neutrals had been overpowered he could not have easily guessed though he could say, with almost certainty, who had been responsible.

“The Decepticons,” a deep, familiar voice said from behind him, and he turned around with a start. Relief flooded his circuits when he saw the large, blue and red mech standing there.

“Optimus. Thank the Heavens you’re all right,” Ratchet replied, and then saw the concern in the Autobot Commander’s optics as he surveyed the off-lined Neutrals for himself; he looked slightly defeated, but otherwise was fine. “Eh, they’ll be okay. I’ve called for assistance; maintenance teams should be here soon.” He waved a hand towards the unconscious Neutrals. “Though next time, I doubt they’ll be as fortunate.”

Optimus relaxed his shoulders, visibly relieved. “Hopefully, there won't be a next time.” He sighed. “What about the other Autobots; have we heard from them yet?” He sounded tired, withdrawn.

Ratchet shook his head. “Not yet. I only just…” He searched for the right words. “Got back a few moments ago.”

The Autobot leader activated his communications link so they could both hear it. “Trailbreaker, do you read me?” They waited for a response, but after a long moment there was only the crackling sound of static.

Ratchet shook his head in thought. “Maybe they're still–” he began, but was then cut short by the sound of a voice that suddenly came over the link.

“Prime? This is Trailbreaker.” The channel sounded weak, the voice distant.

Optimus glanced towards the tower. “Trailbreaker, do you know where you are?”

Trailbreaker seemed to take his time in responding. “Uh… hold on.” There was a slight pause as the defensive strategist got a lock on his position. “I’m about… one hundred megamiles from Central Iacon, bearing south-east, several sub-levels down.” The two Autobots looked at one another perplexedly.

“Is Bluestreak with you?”

“No, I'm alone.” He sounded uncertain, confused. “Prime… I don't remember how I got here. One moment I was with the rest of the team, and then the next…”

“Don't worry; I think I can answer that. Can you make your way back to headquarters?” Optimus asked him.

“Yeah, shouldn't be a problem. Uh, Optimus? There's something else,” Trailbreaker said, and then faltered.

Optimus waited for him to continue but the voice on the other end of the link remained quiet. “What is it, Trailbreaker?”

More silence followed, and then Trailbreaker's voice came through abruptly. “I'm not quite sure how to explain this, Optimus, but I think – there's something down here with me.”

Optimus stood motionless as he listened carefully to the transmission. “Some _thing_?” he asked, seeking clarification.

“Yeah. Like I said, I don't know how to describe it. I mean, I don't see anything, exactly, but… I can sense something, if you know what I mean. It's pretty dark down here, though.”

As Trailbreaker was speaking Ratchet was suddenly alerted to his own com link being activated. He nodded towards Optimus and then answered the transmission. “Ratchet here, go ahead.”

“Ratchet? Oh, hey, we sure are glad to hear your voice!”

“Hot Rod,” Ratchet identified the voice on the other end, more for Optimus' sake than for any other reason.

“That's me. Bluestreak's here, too.” Unlike Trailbreaker's voice, Hot Rod's came across loud and clear. “We're on our way back to your location.”

“Good to hear you're both alright.”

“You'll never guess what happened! We were transported to an underground tunnel of some kind – I think it was still in Polyhex, but–”

“Save it for later, Hot Rod. Just meet us back in Iacon soon as you can, would you?” Ratchet replied, unamused by the Autobot warrior's excitement though relieved that he, and Bluestreak, were both unharmed.

“Oh, okay, sure thing.”

“Good. Ratchet out.” The Autobot medic closed his com link and looked over at his Commander, who had also ended his communication with Trailbreaker. “Looks like we’re all present and accounted for, in a manner of speaking,” he said, and thought better of asking about Trailbreaker’s odd message.

“Let’s head back to headquarters,” Optimus said, thankful that Megatron had kept his promise, at least.

The two of them transformed into their vehicle modes and started on the main road back out of Darkmount, just as two maintenance teams arrived to transport the unconscious Neutrals to their nearest command post, most likely in Antihex.

Neither spoke a word during the rest of their journey back to Iacon.

* * *

Astro looked up at the illuminated sign that adorned the side of a grey, metallic building. ‘ _Roundup's Exotic Entertainment'_ it read in large, hard-to-miss Cybertronian letters. “This is it.” He sounded unimpressed, scanned the area for any recognizable signatures.

“Well?” his companion, Rook, waited expectantly.

Astro shook his head. “Nothing.” He began to walk away, heading back down the main street.

His partner watched him go, and then called after him. “Wait – so, what now?”

Astro stopped to turn back towards Rook. “We'll keep searching until we find him,” he answered, as if there was nothing else to say.

“Can you at least tell me who this Comet is that we're supposed to be looking for?” Rook asked, frustrated with the notion that, apparently, Astro still did not trust him. “I simply want to help!”

The blue mech hesitated, looking up towards the early morning sky. “All I can tell you is that he’s Cybertronian.”

“I already knew that,” Rook answered tersely, observing him critically. “Is he Decepticon?” Astro returned his gaze but said nothing so Rook tried asking him again, more forcefully, demanding an answer. “Is he _Decepticon_? Answer me!”

“I can't tell you that–” Astro repeated, but Rook would not take no for an answer.

“Damn it, Astro. If you want me to help you – if you want to truly give me that second chance you talked about – then you’ve got to start _trusting_ me.” Rook’s yellow optics glowered in frustration under his visor and, for the first time, Astro saw conviction in the mech – an inner strength and purpose that had been buried for far too long.

Finally, Astro began to let down his guard. “You're right,” he said quietly, and slowly exhaled before continuing. He nodded purposefully. “He is Decepticon.”

Rook took a small step back, solemnly taking in the information. “Would it be safe to say that you've already tried locking onto his signature? Signalled his private com link?” Under normal circumstances these methods should have worked, but it was obvious that this particular situation was far from normal.

Astro nodded affirmatively. “His unique signature is… untraceable. And, as far as his private com link goes, it's been deactivated.”

“I see,” Rook replied, intrigued. “So, other than looking for a Cybertronian signature I don't suppose you have any other way of tracking him down?”

Astro slowly shook his head. “No. Using any other method would have put him in danger.” Astro started back down the street resuming his scan for any possible sign of the Decepticon, until Rook interrupted him once more.

“Forgive me if this sounds untenable, but… have you tried scanning through all encrypted Decepticon transmission frequencies?”

“Of course, that's one of the first–” Astro began, but then stopped in his tracks as a sudden thought entered his processor. “Wait just one astro-second.” He adjusted his internal scanner to pick up additional signals from coded Decepticon emergency transmissions. “It's unlikely, but a possibility, nonetheless.”

Rook had to hurry to catch up to him again, and they walked together in silence until they had travelled a few more blocks. “I'm picking up a very erratic signal,” Astro said in surprise, and began to move quickly along the main street before turning right into a smaller access way. “It's coming from a Decepticon transceiver. Rook, you're a genius.”

“I beg your pardon?” Rook replied, perplexed.

“It appears the signal’s integrity is severely degraded.” He continued walking at a fast pace, as if he were afraid that if he stopped or slowed down he may lose the life line. “It’s unstable.” After several more minutes Astro finally stopped and looked about. They were in a narrow alleyway a good distance away from the main thoroughfare. “This is where the signal ends,” he said, searching for anything that might resemble a transceiver.

As Rook stepped forward the sound of metal clinking against the smooth, stone surface of the alleyway was picked up by their audio sensors, and he stooped low to retrieve the small object on the ground that he had flung aside with his foot. Examining it briefly, he carefully handed it to Astro. The object was, indeed, a Decepticon transceiver. However, it looked as though it had been crushed underfoot by a large Dinobot. “Is this what we’re looking for?” 

Astro’s expression showed deep concern, something that Rook had never seen from him before. “He’s in trouble.”

* * *

From the moment he’d arrived at the maintenance and repair bay Sideswipe felt like he were on the outer looking in, trapped in some sort of semi-dream state and unable to take command of his own motor relays.

“Dammit, we're losing him.” Red Alert, the temporary Chief Medical Officer and Ratchet's new prodigy, stood over a berth fully focused upon his unconscious patient. His voice was laden with anxiety. His ability to handle the situation was not a concern, however; whether his patient would survive another day, was. “Arcee, try to boost the power signal… take it to maximum tolerance levels.”

His assistant stood right beside him, only too willing to help in any way she could. She was so focused on the medical emergency that she hadn't noticed Prowl or Sideswipe enter the med bay. “Won't that risk permanent damage to his neural circuitry?” she asked nervously.

“Yeah, but right now he doesn't have any other option. He's as good as gone if we don't do _something_ ,” he explained, carefully observing the monitor readouts.

Arcee nodded in understanding and glanced over at the patient’s gestalt team mates, Hot Spot and Streetwise, who stood watching the critical situation unfold at the foot of the berth.

A third Protectobot, Blades, stood in front of Sideswipe, removed from the activity. He had his arms crossed in front of him, and an expression of pure bitterness and resentment was etched upon his face. Sideswipe imagined what he might be thinking at this very moment, and guessed that it probably involved a particular Decepticon, and how he was going to be terminated at his hands.

The room was eerily quiet as Red Alert and Arcee concentrated on their task; no one else dared speak or move. The pink and white femme turned a knob near the external power source by a fraction, and then waited intently as Red relayed immediate feedback.

“A little more,” he said, and she complied, though she couldn’t hide her own stress and worry. Beside Groove, the indicator panel that displayed his vital signs showed his critical state. “Okay… okay, that’s good.” Red Alert let out a tentative sigh of relief, stepped back from the berth but kept his optics fixed upon the indicator panel until it began to show a stable signal. Then he glanced up towards the onlookers, and noticed Prowl standing nearby. “Sir, I’ll need your authorisation for what I’m about to do,” he said, briefly looking towards Sideswipe.

Prowl moved closer until he stood over the berth, looking down at the patient. “How is he?” he asked.

Red was hesitant to respond, reluctant to speak too candidly in front of Groove’s closest friends, but Hot Spot caught his expression. “Whatever it is… you can tell us, Red,” he said, prepared for the worst. He spoke for all of his team mates. “It’s not your fault what happened. We know you’re only doing your best.”

Red nodded. “Alright. The truth is… we almost lost him. He's practically surviving on backup reserve. If we keep him on life support much longer, it'll be completely depleted. His only hope now is to place him in semi-permanent stasis. That'll buy us a little more time. But we need to do it now.”

Hot Spot looked doubtful. “What's the risk?”

Red glanced at Arcee and Prowl, before returning his attention to Hot Spot - all familiar faces of friends that he trusted with his life. “There's always a risk that we might not be able to bring him back. And that's even if we're ever able to restore his missing link.”

The Protectobot leader nodded in understanding and then looked over at his fellow team member, an unspoken communication between them, before turning back to Red Alert. “Do it.”

Prowl nodded towards the repair specialist, silently authorizing the procedure. Then he stepped away, returned to stand beside Sideswipe. The former warrior had his full attention fixed upon the scene before him, as if mesmerized by it.

Several minutes passed by in silence as they all watched the procedure being carried out, reluctant to speak or utter a single word. They watched as Red Alert carefully accessed Groove's spark chamber, rewired its connections. It only took him less than a breem, and after he was done he checked the monitor readout and indicator panel until they both showed minimal electrical activity, and then nodded solemnly towards Hot Spot.

Streetwise, who had not uttered a word to anyone since the emergency had begun, now spoke up. “Come on, let's get out of here. There's nothing more we can do for him, anyway.” His voice was like acid.

“Where are you going?” Hot Spot asked him before he could leave the med bay.

“Does it matter?” the white interceptor retorted. The tension that had arisen suddenly between the two was felt by all in the room.

Arcee, in an effort to alleviate Hot Spot's anxiety, reassured him, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Let him go, Hot Spot. He'll be alright.” The Protectobot leader hesitated, but then nodded in acquiescence. She was right; he probably just needed some time alone.

Streetwise took the cue and headed towards the med bay doors, but then Sideswipe grabbed his forearm on his way past, stopping him in his tracks. “Hey, what do you think you’re doing? It’s not safe for any Autobot to be out there!” Sideswipe warned.

The Protectobot looked at him as if he had fried a logic circuit. “Let go of me,” he replied contemptuously, attempting to pull his arm away, but Sideswipe’s grip was strong. “ _Sideswipe_.” Streetwise acknowledged the other’s name as if it tasted of bitter energon. He tried to pull his arm away once more, and this time was successful; his arm came free with a hard swing, almost striking Blades.

Sideswipe watched Streetwise exit the med bay and called out after him. “I’m warning you – just stay away from any Neutrals!” When he got no response, he finally turned towards Prowl. “Prowl – _sir_ , let me speak to Prime,” he requested one more time with increased determination.

“I'm sorry, Sideswipe, but as I have already explained–” the Chief of Security began, but was cut off by the Autobot.

“Please! I wouldn't have come here at all if it wasn't important. Unless you want to see another Autobot end up like _that_?” His voice rose in volume as he pointed towards Groove. “It could be any one of us next time – perhaps Blades here, or even myself!” He looked around the med bay, determined to make his point. “What about Arcee over there? Don't you even _care_ about what might happen to us?”

The Autobots in the med bay all stopped to listen as he began to draw their attention, his indignation obvious for all to witness. Prowl hesitated uncertainly, but then decided on a change of tactic. “Of course I do – that’s not the issue here. However–”

“Then what _is_ the issue, Prowl? Because I'm starting to think that I may have made a mistake returning to Iacon Central,” Sideswipe confessed, angry.

Prowl remained unperturbed by the other’s loss of emotional control, and ignored his last remark. “However, I’ll be willing to deliver your message to Prime myself… provided that you do not profess your view point to anyone else – at least for the time being. Needless to say, we wouldn’t want to create unnecessary panic.” He paused, cautious. “Would that be acceptable?”

Sideswipe contemplated Prowl’s proposal. It was probably the best he could expect to get from Autobot Command, especially considering his past record and his current official status as a former officer of the Autobot army: _dismissed without penalty_. “Fine,” he replied, and walked out of the maintenance and repair bay without looking back.

* * *

“Do you suppose it was left here on purpose?” Rook watched as Astro deactivated the transceiver, patiently waiting for his companion to reply.

“It’s hard to say.” Astro visually scanned the alleyway on all general frequencies, looking for any clue that might indicate whether the Decepticon was anywhere nearby, but there was no sign of him. “Come on, we’d better head back just in case we’re not the only ones who’ve picked up the signal,” Astro said, and started to make his way back up the alley. But then he stopped suddenly, sensing danger, and slowly retraced his steps back toward Rook, grabbing his arm. “Get ready to move.”

Rook became wary, but before he could ask any questions a large, ominous figure appeared from around the corner. It was an enhanced, orange and grey jet-former; a sight that was all too familiar to him. It scowled at them, and Rook announced in shock. “Jhiaxus!”

Astro did not wait one astro-second longer, and the two of them bolted down the alley as fast as they could go.

Jhiaxus roared after them, engaging his jet thrusters in robot mode and shooting forwards through the air down the narrow alleyway. “Traitors!” he bellowed, enraged. There was the crackling sound of sparks as Jhiaxus’ oversized frame scraped against the walls of structures on either side of the alley, slowing him down.

The sudden whine of a missile launcher was followed by an explosive impact. A projectile had narrowly missed Astro as its target, but the force of the blast had flung him sideways into a wall with an audible crash, and had demolished part of a multiple storey building. Rook, realizing that Jhiaxus was almost upon them, a second energy-blast missile already heading their way, threw himself down to avoid its impact and then scrambled towards Astro, who was still recovering from the first detonation. There was no time for words now, only action; he grabbed the blue mech by his arm and forcibly guided him towards an opening in the alley to their left. They stumbled out of Jhiaxus’ way just in time, as the second in command of the largest subterranean base on Alternity City shot past them at high speed.

“Are you damaged?” Rook asked, helping Astro to his feet. The taller mech shook his head, looking back towards the alley, and then the both of them broke into a run down the path before them. They could hear their assailant close by as he landed on the ground in the alleyway, turning back the way he had come. Then he emerged at the entrance to the narrow pathway and began to pursue them on foot.

“We need to lose him, _fast!_ ” Astro called out to Rook, and risked a few precious seconds as he turned around to deliver a volley of laser blasts towards Jhiaxus. This seemed to slow the mech down, but it was not enough to stop him as he almost caught up to them.

Rook fired his own laser weapon, but their combined weapons were no match for Jhiaxus. The enemy jet sneered at them, reloading his missile launcher, and fired it once more.

* * *

“Hey, Sideswipe, mind if I ask you something?”

Sideswipe looked up from his seat at a table in the main recreational area, on the ground floor of the Command Center. It was Blades.

“Shoot,” he replied unconcernedly, taking a gulp of the energon from the cylindrical container in front of him.

“Listen, uh, I overheard you talking to Prowl in the med bay earlier. And I was wondering.” The red and white helicopter took a seat opposite him, not waiting for an invitation. “Because if it's got anything to do with what happened to Groove…”

Sideswipe stared at the Protectobot, his optics intense. “I've no idea what happened to Groove.” His tone was curt, defensive.

Blades did not appreciate the Autobot’s apparent lack of empathy. Perhaps Sideswipe had his own personal demons to deal with, as they all had – in fact, he was certain of it – but that was no reason to treat him with any hostility. “Then, what was all that stuff you were saying about the Neutrals?” he prodded.

The red and black Autobot shrugged impatiently. “Maybe you should go ask Prowl?”

Blades shook his head incredulously, his frustration increasing. “Hey, what the frag is your problem?”

“I don't have a problem.” Sideswipe sipped at his energon.

“Oh, yeah?” Blades stood up to leave; he obviously wasn’t going to get anywhere with the mech. Looking down at him, he suddenly saw a very different Sideswipe to the one he remembered. “You know, I almost wish Streaker had never interfered with affairs that never concerned him. We’d all have been better off if he’d just kept his mouth shut.”

This seemed to snap Sideswipe out of whatever state he had been in. He rose abruptly from his seat, pushing his canister of energon aside. It slid halfway across the table top. “What did you just say?”

Blades took a step back, already regretting his bluntness. “Look, I'm only after some answers. I didn't really mean anything by it–”

“The slag you didn't,” Sideswipe replied, threateningly. “Why don't you just get out of my sight before I do something we'll both regret?”

During their heated exchange, Smokescreen and Bumblebee had entered the recreational area and were unable to completely avoid staring at the two Autobots as they walked past.

“What are you looking at?” Blades called out, before facing Sideswipe again. “Here’s some advice for you; keep up that attitude of yours and believe me you’re not going to win any favours – not around here.” Then, having said his piece he walked out of the rec room, leaving Sideswipe to contemplate his final words. Sideswipe sat back down slowly, reached across for his container.

He hardly noticed as Smokescreen approached his table, taking the same seat that Blades had occupied only moments ago. “Hey, welcome back,” the tactician said in greeting, attempting to diffuse the tension. He did not wish to upset the estranged Autobot any more than he already was. “Don’t take what he says to heart. He’s just worried about Groove,” he advised. “We all are.”

Sideswipe avoided his gaze, though he was listening and already starting to calm down a little. “Thanks,” he said and finished the last of his energon, placed the empty container down on the table. “Well, I’d better be going. Wouldn’t want to overstay my welcome, you know?”

As he stood up to leave Smokescreen stopped him. “Oh! Hold on a second… before I forget.” He retrieved a small object from one of his forearm compartments, held it out in the palm of his hand. “Ratchet asked me to give this to you.”

Sideswipe looked down at the data chip in puzzlement. “What's on it?”

“I don’t know, exactly. All he would tell me was that it’s some kind of recorded message.” Smokescreen was somewhat disappointed that he couldn’t elaborate on it further. “I’m glad you’re here, actually. I was about to go out and find you.” He watched as Sideswipe took the data chip from his hand. “I hope it’s of some help to you. Oh… he also wanted you to go and see him.”

“Thanks.” Sideswipe paused in thought, and wondered what Ratchet would possibly want to talk to him about. “Last time we spoke, he'd made it clear he wasn't too interested in what I had to say.”

The blue and red Autobot gave him an apologetic shrug. “That’s funny; he said something similar about you. Though, you never know… things might be different now.”

Sideswipe looked at him contemplatively, almost pensive. “I sure hope so,” he said, and walked out of the rec room.

* * *

This time, Astro was prepared for the oncoming missile and he threw himself down, flat on the ground, to avoid it. However, as he started to pick himself up again he felt a sharp pressure against his back, and realized that Jhiaxus was standing over him, pushing him down with the tip of one of his rifles. The other one was pointed towards Rook.

“Him, I had suspected,” Jhiaxus said, indicating towards Astro. “But you, Rook. I am _extremely_ disappointed in you,” he taunted his former subordinate. A cold gleam emanated from his optics. Rook stood motionless, paralysed by fear and unable to hide the sheer terror that he felt as he stared back at his former superior. Jhiaxus recognized this, and did not hesitate to play upon it. “How could you turn against me after all I’ve done for you, Rook? Imagine my surprise when I discovered what you’d done… turning your back on your friends… only to side with this… _traitor._ ” Jhiaxus emphasized the last word, looking down at Astro with such contempt that it seemed as though his gaze would burn a hole right through him. Then he looked back towards Rook abruptly, his voice now menacing. “Why did you do it, Rook? Why did you betray me? Answer!”

The smaller mech reacted with a jolt, his mouth slightly open in shock as he struggled to think of what to say. “I…” he started, but was unable to vocalize further.

“Very well,” Jhiaxus interjected, impatient. “If _you_ can't talk, then maybe _he_ will.” The large jet hooked a foot underneath Astro and roughly turned him over so that he was facing upwards, his back now to the ground. The rifle that had been pinning him down was now threateningly pressed against his face. Jhiaxus gave Astro a malevolent glare before driving a fist down hard across his cheek. The impact was so violent that Astro sustained a deep cut to his upper lip. Energon from the gash began to trickle down his face and chin.

“No! Please, leave him alone! I – I’ll tell you whatever you want to know,” Rook pleaded suddenly without thinking.

Jhiaxus turned his attention back to his former assistant, a grin slowly spreading across his face. “So, it appears that you have a soft spot for this worthless scrap-pile. I do find that rather intriguing, despite my revulsion,” he said with obvious spite. Then he laughed with such cold and malicious intent that Rook felt as though his core had been plunged into a deep freeze. The last time he had heard Jhiaxus laugh in such a manner, he had stood by and watched him pull apart a condemned prisoner piece by piece before finally having his disassembled parts smelted down at a nearby ore refinery. “Oh, don’t worry – I’ll make absolutely sure that Astro receives his just _reward_ ,” Jhiaxus continued, mocking the mech beneath him. Astro lay on the ground motionless; he did not speak a word, nor did he give away any of his thoughts or emotions. “But as for you, Rook, you have made a _terrible_ mistake. However, since I am in a rather generous mood I am willing to forgive your transgressions. Return with me to the base, and I will spare your life.”

This confrontation with Jhiaxus was more than Rook could handle, as he felt his resolve begin to weaken. He looked down at Astro, and was reminded of all that had happened between them since the blue mech had taken him away from the Hitec base against his will. He had vehemently protested his actions, had even despised Astro for what he’d done with an almost uncontrollable need for revenge. But then, that had somehow all changed, and he realized that he had formed a closer bond with Astro in the short time they’d spent together than he’d ever experienced with any mech at the base over the few vorns he’d served there.

“Well, Rook, what have you decided?” Jhiaxus reminded him, growing ever more impatient. “I haven't got all day.”

“I…” Rook looked down at Astro once more, and was reminded of the inner strength and determination that emanated from those yellow optic sensors, and how much he wished he could emulate the same qualities. “I wish to–”

But before Rook could give him an answer a sudden barrage of energy blasts impacted Jhiaxus from above. Rook looked up in confusion, and saw a purple and grey space shuttle hovering low in the sky.

Jhiaxus, oblivious to the source of the sudden assault upon him, cried out in surprise and frantically looked about. Distracted, he could not stop Astro as the blue Cybertronian took the opportunity to roll away from underneath him and away from his reach.

Astro aimed his laser blaster towards the enemy jet and opened fire. He was soon joined by Rook and, along with the help of the airborne Decepticon, the three of them quickly managed to turn the tide in their favour. Jhiaxus faltered, tried to aim his missile launcher skyward but found it difficult to get a lock on the enemy target as weapons fire assaulted him from all angles, sufficiently incapacitating him.

Looking up, Astro noticed a hatch opening underneath the shuttle and he waved, indicating for it to take them up. The shuttle complied; within a matter of astro-seconds a powerful force field was projected towards the two of them, and they found themselves quickly being pulled up towards the craft.

Jhiaxus attempted to stop them, but he was too slow; the two were already inside the shuttle as it took off high into the air, leaving their adversary far behind.

Astro, relieved beyond words that he and Rook had escaped with their lives, leaned his head against the shuttle’s interior. “Nice timing, Astrotrain. How in the Pits did you know we were here?”

Astrotrain laughed. “Actually, I wasn't looking for you, Astro. I was tracking a Decepticon transmission. Though, it seems to have stopped now.”

“That's because we got to it first,” Astro explained, holding up the damaged transceiver in his hand. “Jhiaxus must have picked up the same signal.” He looked towards Rook. “Astrotrain, you remember Rook, don't you?”

“Sure,” Astrotrain replied, but then was silent for a long moment.

Rook couldn’t help the feeling of uneasiness that swept over him; he’d forgotten all about the Decepticons he used to know, so very long ago, before he had turned against them. He realized with regret that Astrotrain – in fact, all of them – had every reason to mistrust him, and for a brief moment he feared that they were about to take their revenge upon him.

However, when Astrotrain spoke again he seemed to hold no such grudge. “Welcome back, Rook. We Decepticons have to stick together, now more than ever.” Rook had not expected him to be so forgiving, and it took him by surprise. He felt unworthy, undeserving of it.

“Thank you, Rook,” Astro then said, with unrestrained sincerity. 

The green-colored mech became increasingly uncomfortable, though he was not displeased. “For what? I wasn't much help to you back there.”

“That's not true,” Astro replied simply. He touched the gash on his lip, wiping away the energon.

Rook contemplated his words, but did not give a reply. Instead, he asked Astro another question. “Aren’t you curious about what I was going to tell Jhiaxus?”

The blue mech looked at him steadily, and then shook his head. “No.” He paused for a brief moment before adding, “I know what you were going to say. I trust you.”

Rook slowly sat down beside Astro on the floor of the shuttle, and for the first time in a very, very long time, he felt proud to be a Decepticon once more.

* * *

It wasn’t until several hours after Sideswipe had left the command complex, when he’d returned to his private quarters, situated in a small, nondescript apartment block in South Iacon, that he finally found the courage to play back the message on the data chip. He had no definite idea of what he might find on it, though he’d half expected it to contain a recorded message of Ratchet, or even Prime himself, giving him some pertinent advice about reconsidering his position and reminding him of his duty as an Autobot, perhaps even requesting that he apply to return to active duty. Then he’d dismissed these thoughts; receiving such a message was highly unlikely, to say the least. Autobot Command had strict rules and procedures in place, designed to prevent Autobots just like himself from compromising the integrity of Cybertron Command. If he wanted to return to active duty, he would have to go out on a limb, request a pardon and, if he was fortunate enough to be granted a reassessment, work his way up to the top all over again. It almost didn’t seem worth it, not after the events that had led to his dismissal.

So when he connected the data chip's play back mechanism to an auxiliary data port in his fingertip, unlocking it with his unique signature, he did not expect at all the message that he was about to receive.

A holographic image of a tall, yellow Autobot appeared in front of him. His arms were crossed, and a look of cynicism pervaded his expression.

Sideswipe almost stumbled onto his recharge berth as he stepped backwards in shock, and then slowly sat down upon it. “Sunny,” he whispered, his optics locked upon the image of his twin brother as the recorded message began to play.

_“Sides… I’ve tracked Bludgeon to Alternity City… and you’re probably as mad as the Pits at me right now. Please don’t try to follow me here, though. We don’t need the both of us getting our afts thrown into detention, or worse._

_“I know… you were only trying to look out for me, and I get that, I really do… and I probably shouldn’t have said those things to you. Although you should know that I didn’t mean any of it, and… and I’m sorry. You’ll always be my brother, no matter what. I trust you with my life. If you don’t know that already, well… then I guess, I should have done a better job at being a brother to you.”_ There was a long pause as Sunstreaker’s holo image concentrated upon what he wanted to say.

_“Anyway… uh, oh yeah, I guess I should mention that it’s…_ _Cybertronian stellar date 143491-4-092-19_ _–”_

Sideswipe stopped the play back, sat motionless in his quarters as he fought to overcome the flood of emotions that threatened to engulf him. That stellar date was more than a vorn ago; in fact, it was the same day that Sunstreaker had left Cybertron – reason and destination unknown. It was also the last time that Sideswipe had heard from his brother, after a huge disagreement had created a rift between them only one day earlier.

He had no idea why he had not been aware of Sunstreaker's message until now, more than one hundred stellar cycles after it had been recorded, or why Ratchet had had it in his possession all this time.

Inhaling deeply three times, he resumed the play back.

_“Look, I know you don’t agree with me about the whole thing with the proposed Alliance… but, I know what I saw and I just won’t ignore it. I know that Sentinel’s involved with this virus in some way… but I don’t have all the details just yet.”_ The hologram of Sunstreaker rubbed at his helm, hesitated. _“And it’s like I told Optimus… If Sentinel has anything to do with this new Alliance, I’m not hanging around.”_ Another long pause and then, _“I wish things had turned out differently, Sides. The last thing I want to do is alienate you as well.”_

Sunstreaker’s moving image glanced briefly to his right, looking out for something unseen. After a moment, he turned back towards Sideswipe. _“I’m going to try and get another message through to you soon, let you know what I find out. I figure it’s not going to be easy, but I’ll try. If all goes well, I’ll see you again soon. Sunstreaker out.”_

The holographic image flickered off and Sideswipe dared not move, as if he feared that he might somehow lose the last existing memory of his brother.

All these years, and he had thought that Sunstreaker had abandoned him completely, that he had left Cybertron without even bothering to let him know where he'd gone, or why he'd left. All this time, and he had falsely believed that Sunstreaker had never forgiven him for the stupid things he'd said and done.

Now, however, this message changed everything.


	9. Chapter 9

The first thought to enter Comet’s mind as he gradually regained consciousness was the question of whether or not he was alive and still functioning, until he realized that the answer to that question was self-evident. As his various internal systems slowly returned online he initiated a diagnostic self-test, and the results confirmed it; he was still intact, even though he had been certain that Lockdown would terminate him. Unless, of course, the bounty hunter intended some other purpose for him, one that Comet had not yet considered. He recalled how Lockdown had knocked his transceiver out of his hand the night before, and had overpowered him, locking a circuit dampener onto his neck before carrying him away.

The circuit dampener… he tried to move but, as expected, could not; he had lost all motor control. He realized that his optic sensors must be affected by the dampener, because his vision was blurred and all he could see were shadows. Oddly enough, his audio receptors seemed to be unaffected; he could hear every sound with crystal clear clarity.

Comet wondered where he was. The sounds that he was picking up were mostly unfamiliar to him, though he could tell that he was in a large space of some sort, possibly inside a cargo hold or control room. His first supposition was that he was being held somewhere in Lockdown’s ship, which was probably tucked away out of sight in some subterranean space port. It was even possible that he had already left Alternity City and that he was being transported to some unmarked prison colony, though he was probably far too valuable to simply be disposed of in such a manner and the more that he thought about it, the more he believed it was far more likely that he was still on Alternity City, though his precise location was completely unknown to him.

The question that was now foremost on his mind was what, exactly, had Lockdown been directed to do with him. He was able to come up with a few notions, but none were particularly pleasant and so, after a few cycles, he forcibly removed those thoughts from his mind. In the stillness of the space in which he now found himself, Comet’s focus shifted suddenly to his last conversation with Thunderblast, and how she had casually mentioned Cybertron and the other seekers. Who they might have been, or why they had come to Alternity City, he could not guess. Thunderblast had never been very forthcoming with her information, and had always been a tease; however, he was no fool and was well aware of the games she liked to play.

The sound of something metallic moving in the background caught his attention, and his recent memory of Thunderblast was soon forgotten. He listened carefully in an effort to determine the source of the sound and, sure enough, it occurred again. He decided, with caution, that it wasn’t the sound of another mech in the space with him; rather, it was more like the sound that a sack of mixed parts might make if it were turned upside down and its contents emptied out onto the floor.

This was soon followed by another sound, though it was louder and seemed to be coming from somewhere closer. It was the sound of metal being crushed inside a compactor, Comet realized grimly, and was overcome by a sudden urge to get as far away from this place as possible.

It slowly began to dawn on him that he was inside some sort of processing facility, probably the type that recycles scrap metal or the like. Knowing full well what this might mean for him, he began to wish that he hadn’t surrendered to Lockdown so willingly. It was true that he had not wanted to continue living his current existence; yet, by the same token, he had never anticipated that he would have to endure such a horrific and unceremonious end.

Remarkably, his vision gradually began to improve, but he knew that this could not be possible because of the circuit dampener that was fastened to his neck. He briefly considered the possibility that he might be hallucinating but this, also, was unlikely; other than his disrupted motor control mechanisms, his internal diagnostics continued to indicate that his neural circuitry was functioning normally.

As his optics came fully online, the shadow forms in his field of vision gave way to clear outlines and colors and he soon realized that he was staring up at an expansive, domed metallic ceiling. There was just enough light to make out details in the distance, though he wasn’t able to turn his head to get a better idea of exactly where he was.

The sound of churning machinery returned abruptly, and Comet was certain that it was coming from a conveyor belt system. He felt his sense of panic heighten, and desperate thoughts of escape began to rush into his main processor. He tried to move again, but his efforts were futile. If he could only think of some way to remove the circuit dampener from his neck, he’d have a chance at escape.

Then a voice unexpectedly spoke to him inside his head, as clearly as if it had spoken into his audio receptors, and for a moment his world came to a stand still. _You have the power within you… focus your will on the device._

It sounded familiar, the voice of someone he had known over many vorns, since the beginning of his creation. ‘Who is that?’ he thought in confusion, his mind still in shock, but he received no answer. He tried to move again, but all that he could manage was a low groan.

_Focus your will._

There it was again. He tried to make sense of the words, but in his current state he was finding it difficult to focus on anything. Still, he had to try. He had nothing to lose in doing so.

Comet concentrated his efforts on focusing his mind so that he could center his thoughts upon the circuit dampener with a singular, purposeful intention. As his focus intensified, he saw within his mind the device loosening its grip on him, the integrity of its force field gradually weakening, deteriorating, until, finally, its hooks retracted and he saw it fall to the ground, inert. As he held onto this mental picture, he felt an electrical disturbance building up around the dampener and he realized, to his astonishment, that this was not part of his imagination. Distracted for only an instant his imagining dissolved into nothingness, and in the same moment the electrical sensation ceased.

‘It’s impossible… I can’t do this!’ his internal voice called out in frustration. It was no use; he’d never be able to disconnect that dampener by using sheer force of will alone, no matter how hard he tried, and he began to resign himself to his fate once more.

_You have the ability… just focus your will._

This was followed by a vision that passed through his mind, in a sudden flash that lasted no more than a few astro-seconds. A distant memory, deeply buried; he was lying down upon a berth, in a semi-conscious state. A mech was bending over him, working on his main systems.

That voice… it belonged to the mech in his vision. Who was he? Someone familiar, yet Comet had never seen him before. It didn’t make any sense.

 _You must try to focus._ The mech’s voice again, encouraging him, almost reassuring him.

‘I can’t. Please…’ Comet pleaded. His resolve was weak as a range of emotions coursed through his processor. He had never asked for any of this, yet how had he ended up here, more unsure and uncertain of his place in the universe than he had ever been before? ‘Please… leave me alone.’

But the mech’s voice only became adamant, more forceful. _Try to focus!_

‘Please, stop!’ His own anger surfacing, a strained cry surged forth from his vocal processor.

In the midst of his turmoil, he realized with a newfound clarity that his vocal processor should not have been able to make any sound; the circuit dampener should have made sure of that.

_Try to focus._

Finally, Comet relented. His air intakes were working harder than normal to compensate for the energy-draining effects of the intrusive dampener upon his systems. ‘Alright… I’ll try,’ he conceded, ignoring the sounds of scrap metal in the background as it was reduced to pellets inside the compactor. Again he concentrated his focus upon the circuit dampener, and soon the image of the device reappeared in his mind. This time it was clearer, and he felt as though he had some control over it. He wasn’t sure how that was possible, but he continued to exert his will upon it, nonetheless.

_Focus._

The subtle electrical buzzing around the device gradually returned, and with renewed determination he willed the dampener to detach itself from his neck. ‘I can do this’ _,_ he told himself in an effort to hold onto the thought. ‘Focus…’

His mental exertion was immense. He held onto the image in his mind as if his very life depended upon it until, just as he was beginning to lose concentration with the intense strain of his effort, a sudden surge of electrical energy engulfed the dampener, and Comet’s head jerked back in shock.

He lay there quietly, listening to his air intakes, too afraid to move for fear that he would discover that his attempt had failed. But then, gradually, he found that he was able to turn his head to one side, and he looked around in bewilderment.

“I did it,” he said softly, and became aware that he could speak. “I did it!” In a sudden burst of energy he sat up, felt for the dampener on the side of his neck. Sure enough it was still there, and he pulled it free. It detached easily, and he held it out in front of him, examining it. It looked as though its circuitry had been fried.

Elated, and with an immense sense of relief, he picked himself up and looked around. He was, indeed, in a scrap metal processing facility. Looking down at his feet, he saw that he was standing on a large pile of broken and discarded components, many of them belonging to once-functional mechanoids. The pile was positioned over a conveyor belt system, which was slowly transporting the refuse to another part of the facility where a compactor was in operation. He could see now how close he had actually come to being reduced to raw materials.

Comet looked down at the non-functional dampener that he still held in his hand and, with a renewed will to live, let it fall from his palm and onto the pile of scrap metal under his feet.

* * *

A soft though distinct beeping emanated from Astrotrain’s console, and Astro dashed over to it in alarm.

“Jhiaxus is right behind us,” the shuttle informed him.

“You won’t be able to outmanoeuvre him.” Astro checked their current location on one of the displays. “Not in the air.”

The shuttle veered abruptly to one side as an energy missile narrowly missed them. “Alright, hold on tight,” Astrotrain said and he began his descent, swooping down towards Binaltech at his top-most speed. Astro looked out through the front view screen, watching as the heart of Binaltech city rapidly came up to greet them. A succession of energy blasts shot forward through the air in front of them before exploding in clouds of smoke and debris as they impacted the street below. Astrotrain skilfully avoided most of the missiles, but one of them detonated against his vertical stabilizer and he began to spiral out of control. For several moments he fought to regain navigational control but it looked as though he would not be able to avoid a crash landing. However, just before he was about to slam into one of Binaltech’s crowded main streets he straightened himself out with a ninety degree turn.

Gliding through the air just above the ground, he did not slow as startled pedestrians realized all too late that they stood directly in the path of the oncoming shuttle. A few missiles continued to impact the solid streets and buildings in front of them, and Astrotrain wasted no time; he continued down the main thoroughfare until a large entrance off to the right quickly came into view. Turning sharply, he tilted downwards and flew through the open entranceway, giving pedestrians barely enough time to duck out of the way. Slowing his speed, he hovered down the main flight of steps until the subway tunnel appeared before them, and then headed straight towards it. He made a sharp right turn into the tunnel, avoiding a carriage that was approaching the platform from the opposite direction.

Rook, standing behind Astro, felt the floor beneath him move out from under his feet; it was a sensation that reminded him of being inside an anti-gravity field. In the same instant, the walls of the shuttle rearranged seamlessly into a different configuration and, after a moment, he realized what was happening. He reached out instinctively with one hand to steady himself against a nearby structural rail. Astrotrain’s console, which had reduced in size and taken on a different arrangement, now displayed a layout of Binaltech’s extensive subway system.

Astrotrain navigated his way through the vast labyrinth of subway tunnels, and after a few minutes it became apparent to the three of them that Jhiaxus was no longer pursuing them.

Just a few moments earlier, Jhiaxus had sped through the subway entranceway and had landed at the bottom of the stairs with a show of might, transforming from jet to robot mode while brandishing his missile launcher. He had ignored the fearful shouts of alarm from amongst the crowd of commuters, and had pushed his way past them as if they were worthless underlings.

His sole intention had been to track down that purple and grey shuttle and destroy it, along with the two traitors it harboured, but it had mysteriously disappeared; all that he could see around him were unsuspecting commuters and two subway carriages moving along the tunnel. One of them had slowed to a stop to pick up passengers, while the other one – a much smaller carriage – had left the platform in the opposite direction, and had already moved out of sight.

He grunted in anger, and then ran back up the flight of stairs before transforming back into his jet mode and taking off, soaring high into the sky.

* * *

Comet’s repeated attempts at busting his way through the ceiling of the processing facility had failed. The entire perimeter appeared to be reinforced all round with an energy barrier, and he could not get beyond it. The only doors leading into the enclosure were sealed closed with secure codes, and he saw no other exits or openings. For the time being, at least, he wasn’t going anywhere. He leaned against one of the large, automated machines, and considered his options.

With all the scrap metal and spare components littered about, perhaps he could rig up some kind of snare, in case Lockdown returned. With this in mind, he began to search through the piles of junk, looking for anything that might be useful; tools, discarded arrays, a set of probes, wiring looms – anything that was still mostly intact and hadn’t been destroyed beyond recognition. As he went about his task, he tried his best to avoid staring into the faces of the dead – their broken, darkened optic sockets haunting him like wraiths – but it was almost impossible to do. There were many more bodies of terminated mechs here than he’d first thought, and he recognized many familiar species from in and around the local Sector.

It didn’t take Comet too long before he’d put together a small collection of salvaged items, and he quickly cleared a space on the floor before laying out each object. As he carefully examined each piece, his audial sensors picked up something quietly stirring in the junk pile closest to him. He hesitated, deciding that it was probably just a turbo-rat, but then he saw something move within the periphery of his vision, and this time his curiosity got the better of him.

He stood up and stepped closer to the pile, then bent down to inspect it. The glow from his optics intensified momentarily as he became aware of the source of the movement. He immediately recognized the damaged and torn, yet still largely intact, yellow frame of the mech, half-buried beneath discarded power cores and empty canisters. It was an Autobot, his red faction symbol still clearly displayed upon his chest.

Comet hesitated, watching with apprehension as if the mech might suddenly rise up out of the scrap heap and lunge towards him in a catatonic state. But the longer he observed the mech, the more he realized that the Autobot had been left here to die, in a semi-functional state and helpless.

The condemned mech must have sensed his presence, because he slowly turned his head towards him. Comet moved closer until he was face-to-face with the Autobot, and then studied him carefully for vital signs.

The blue optics still emanated a gentle glow, though it was weak and barely detectable. Comet reached out, carefully grasping the Autobot’s chin and tilting his head a fraction whilst checking for any reaction. Dimmed optics looked back at him, accompanied by an expression of eerie calmness as if he had already resigned himself to the fact that he would soon face termination. The Autobot then moved his mouth in an effort to speak, and after a few moments his vocal processor stuttered to life. “Help… me,” he said.

Comet drew his hand away and stared at him in shock. He had not expected to find any mech here alive, let alone with his senses still intact.

“Please,” the mech said again.

Comet stumbled backwards, but then quickly regained his footing as he spun about, looking for something. In a sudden burst of energy he kicked away odd pieces of junk that lay strewn across the floor near his feet, and then returned to stand over the Autobot’s head. Bending low, he grasped the fallen mech from underneath his upper arms and then dragged his frame backwards, pulling him out of the junk pile and into the cleared space that he had just created on the floor.

Without warning, Comet reached across and opened up the Autobot’s chest panel, examining his internal circuitry, and after a few seconds closed the panel again. “You’ve sustained heavy damage, but you’ll live… provided we can get you out of here,” Comet informed him. The Autobot stared back at him, and Comet felt as though the intensity of his gaze could penetrate his very spark. It made him feel uncomfortable, and he shifted position.

“Thanks,” the Autobot managed. His voice sounded strained, as if he had to concentrate upon every word to get it to vocalize properly. “And… who… the slag… are you?” he added, after a pause.

Comet responded, amused. “That’s just what I need – an Autobot near death with an attitude.”

The Autobot attempted a smile, but control of his facial expressions had been impeded by the damage he had sustained. “I… don’t… think… we’ve met… before. What’s… your name?”

Comet shrugged. “You can call me Comet, but I don’t see how knowing my name is going to help you.”

“Comet… huh?” The Autobot paused, and a long moment passed before he spoke again.”You’re… Decepti… con… aren’t you?”

This time Comet hesitated, turned away from him. “No,” he answered finally.

“I… don’t… believe you,” the mech replied.

“Oh? And why not?”

The Autobot shook his head slowly. “Red… optics… for starters… also… you’re… a seeker… and… a liar.”

“Well, the color of my optical sensors has nothing to do with it,” Comet replied indignantly, “nor does my transformation mode.”

“No… such thing… as… an Auto… bot… seeker,” the Autobot responded, and then he lay still for a long time, saying nothing further.

Comet let him be. It would give the Autobot a chance for his internal repair system to do its work, but it wouldn’t restore his linkage, which had been too heavily damaged by whatever punishment he had endured. It was obvious that he’d ended up on some war lord’s bad side, and on Alternity City that wasn’t a hard thing to achieve; having been in similar situations more times than he could count, Comet was all too aware of this.

* 

A whole hour went by before the Autobot spoke again. Comet, kneeling on the floor beside him as he concentrated on his assortment of broken or incomplete mechanical components, looked up, startled, when he heard the irregular, drawn-out voice. “Huh?”

“I… was… just wonder… ing… what you… were… doing,” the Autobot explained.

“Oh.” Comet shrugged, picked up a relay. “It doesn’t matter. It’s no use, anyway.” He turned to look at the helpless Autobot. “If I don’t find a way out of here soon, Lockdown will be back for me. And if he finds you here as well… you’re going to wish you weren’t alive.”

“Lock… down? Wow… who… have you… crossed?” the Autobot replied, intrigued.

Comet shook his head. “Nobody.”

The Autobot let out a weak chortle. “See? You… _are_ … a liar.”

Comet ignored his comment. Instead, he stood up in frustration and kicked an empty canister out of his path. It ricocheted off a large robotic arm with a clang. Then he looked up at the domed ceiling in contemplation.

“Hey… I’m sorry…” the Autobot said from behind him. His apology sounded sincere.

“Hm?” Comet turned back around to look down upon his battered frame. “What for?”

But the mech didn’t respond; instead, he appeared to be studying Comet intently, and the seeker once again felt the uncomfortableness of his penetrating stare. “Why… are you… helping… me?” he asked.

“Helping you?” Comet replied, amused. “What gives you that idea?”

The Autobot thought about his response. “You… could… have… just… ignored me… left… me on… that…. junk… pile… to… die.” A pause, and then he added, “Isn’t… that… what… Decepti… cons… do?”

Comet grimaced. “I told you before, I’m not–” But he stopped mid-sentence, unable to complete it.

“You’re… not… what?” the Autobot pressed. “Decepti… con?” He turned his head slowly away from the seeker.

“It doesn’t matter,” Comet said finally, before changing the subject. “Anyway, that’s enough about me. How did you end up here?”

After a moment, the Autobot answered. “It’s… a long… story. You… probably… don’t… want to… hear it.”

“Well, that’s up to you. It doesn’t look like we’ll be leaving this place any time soon.” Comet walked over to a nearby scrap pile, sifted through it until he found a power pack. It was depleted, but undamaged.

“Is… there… any way… out of… here?” the Autobot said, turning his head towards the seeker again.

“No.” Comet knelt back down on the floor beside him, power pack in one hand, and began to remove its outer covering. “I don’t even know where _here_ is,” he confessed.

The Autobot gave him an amused look. “Don’t… you?”

Comet briefly looked across at him. “Why, do you know where we are?”

The Autobot gave him a strained half-smile, happy to be able to help in some way. “We’re… in Hitec,” he said.

“Hitec?” Comet repeated, as he pulled the outer covering off the power pack. He examined its terminals, and then proceeded to connect an energy transfer cable from his wrist to the unit. “Well… that makes sense. At least I’m still on Alternity City.” A few minutes passed by in silence, and then he disconnected the power pack from his wrist, placed the small unit down on the floor. He turned his attention back to the Autobot. “You’re going to be of more use to me fully functional again,” he informed him, referring to the mech’s immobilized state.

The Autobot looked up at him. “Glad… to be… of… service,” he replied, not without a hint of sarcasm.

Comet ignored his remark. “I can fix you. But I’ll have to take you temporarily offline.” He reached across, positioned one hand underneath the Autobot’s helm.

“It’s… not… like… I have… any… choice… right?” the Autobot said, attempting to make light of his situation, but he did not try to resist.

“Don’t worry, you won’t feel a thing, Autobot,” Comet responded. He found the access port behind the mech’s helm and opened it up. “Ready?”

“Wait–” the Autobot started. Comet paused, waiting for him to say whatever it was that he needed to say. “Call… me… Sun… ny,” he said.

Comet’s expression did not change. “I know who you are,” he replied simply, before deactivating him.

* * *

Optimus, hands clasped together supporting his chin, faced his senior officers as they sat around the conference room table waiting for him to speak. Immediately upon his return to Iacon, Optimus had called for an emergency meeting. He hadn’t spoken a word to anyone other than to his second in command, who had requested to speak with him alone, but Optimus had waved him aside with a gesture of his hand. “Not now, Prowl,” was all he’d said, and Prowl had instinctively known not to press the issue.

Whatever the cause for this meeting, most of the Autobots gathered knew that it was a serious matter, though none of them dared to be the first to speak. The tension in the room was quite palpable.

It was several minutes before Optimus finally began. “Autobots, there’s no easy way for me to say this.” He paused, sighed deeply.

“Ah, Prime?” Ironhide looked concernedly at his leader. “Whatever it is, we can handle it. You can count on us.” Murmurs of acknowledgment and support rose up from around the table.

“Thank you, Ironhide,” Optimus replied, uncertainly. “But you won’t like it.” The room fell silent again as the Autobot officers waited tensely for him to continue.

“As of this moment, I am ordering all of you to abandon the search for Decepticons. Do not pursue them, and do not attempt to apprehend them. Unless your life is in immediate danger, do not engage them in combat or confront them.” Optimus’ tone of voice was determined, his message clear and unmistakeable. His steadfast gaze moved from one Autobot to the next, as expressions of shock and disappointment spread across their faces.

“But Prime!” Ironhide spoke again in exasperation. “I don’t understand.”

A few of those gathered looked towards Ratchet and Trailbreaker, hoping that they would be able to offer some clarification, but the two Autobots appeared just as confused and uncertain as the rest.

Then, after a moment of contemplation, Hound spoke. “Has the High Council given you a reason? For rescinding their directive?”

Optimus considered his reply carefully. “This has nothing to do with the Cybertronian High Council.” Hound shook his head in puzzlement, as the Autobot leader continued. “I gave Megatron my word, in return for my team’s release.” He turned his head towards Trailbreaker and Hot Rod as he said this, and realization slowly dawned on the both of them. Bluestreak, also, put two and two together as he began to understand what must have happened during their recent mission to Polyhex. Only Ratchet remained expressionless, even though Optimus had mentioned nothing about this to him either.

“But we can’t just let ‘em get away with everything they’ve done – just like that!” Ironhide protested indignantly, his hands clenching into fists.

Optimus remained calm, his tone steady. “I’m sorry, Ironhide, but I’ve made my decision, and it’s final.” He stood up and looked towards his second in command. “Prowl, I want an update. I’ll be in my quarters,” he said, and then exited the conference room without another word, leaving the gathered Autobots disillusioned and in a state of confusion.

* 

Prowl pressed the button on the access panel and waited as it changed from an amber light to a green, welcoming glow, before the door retracted into the wall. Optimus had been expecting him, and immediately beckoned for him to enter. Prowl stepped past the Autobot leader into his quarters and the door slid closed behind him.

“Optimus,” Prowl began. If he had any concerns at all about the brief meeting that morning, he did not show it. “I have the report you requested.” He held out a small data pad, and Optimus looked at it, nodded in acknowledgment.

“Thank you, Prowl,” he said, but did not take the data pad. Instead he made a sweeping motion with one hand and then turned away, walked over to the large view screen that overlooked east Iacon.

Prowl took the cue and cleared his vocal processor. “There have been no reported Decepticon sightings or attacks whatsoever… our maintenance schedule is up to date… all energy reserves are at normal capacity–” He paused, sifting through the detailed information displayed on the small, hand-held screen. “Ah, there’s been an influx of sightings, primarily from Antihex.”

Optimus turned away from the view screen and back towards Prowl, his interest piqued. “What kind of sightings?”

Prowl considered his reply, his words deliberate. “Of Autobots who were previously reported missing.”

The blue light from Optimus’ optical sensors intensified for an instant as the news entered into his main processor. He tried to make sense of it, but the longer he thought about what it might mean the less he was able to get a grasp on it. Prowl, too, looked as though he could offer no explanations. “I see,” he said after a long moment. “I want you to bring them in for review. Find out what happened to them.”

“Yes, Optimus.” The Chief of Security sighed deeply before continuing. “Groove has taken a turn for the worse. He is currently in semi-stasis. He is still alive, but we have little hope for him.”

Optimus had noticed his difficulty as he’d spoken about Groove, so he simply nodded and changed to a different topic. “Is there anything else?”

Prowl hesitated, inhaled slowly. “There is one other matter.”

The Autobot leader turned away again, looking towards the view screen at the busy streets below. “Go ahead.”

“It concerns… Sideswipe,” Prowl said.

Optimus did not reply for a long time and Prowl remained as he was, speaking no further until the Autobot Commander was ready to hear more. “Sideswipe,” he repeated, recalling the name of a mech who had long ago become lost to him.

“Yes. He requested to speak to you. He claims that he witnessed the Neutrals… that they’re preparing some sort of takeover.” Prowl faltered, suddenly feeling as though the very utterance of the notion had placed him into a strange, alternate reality; one that he was not at all used to. To Prowl, the very idea of a Neutral-led rebellion against the Autobots was simply too incredulous to even consider, and he knew that Optimus would see it the same way.

“A planetary takeover?” Optimus looked back to Prowl, then steadily walked towards him until he stood beside his Security Officer. “Are you absolutely certain?”

Prowl nodded his head affirmatively. “That is what he told me. He was quite persistent.”

Optimus stepped away, walking over to a chair, and slowly sat down. “How is it possible? Perhaps…” He spoke quietly, disbelieving yet struggling to grasp the validity of such an allegation. Finally he looked back towards Prowl. “Perhaps, he is mistaken,” he concluded, but his tone was filled with uncertainty. Then, after a long moment, he came to a decision. “Contact Sentinel, tell him I wish to speak with him, at once.”

Prowl nodded once. “Understood.”

“Thank you, Prowl. That will be all.” Optimus watched Prowl silently exit his quarters and, for some time afterwards, he remained in his chair, unmoving.

* * *

After Jazz had left Iacon, he’d had plenty of time to think. Replaying recent events over in his mind, he’d tried to convince himself each time that he’d made the right move. Eventually, though, he stopped concerning himself with the way he’d left things with Prime and, to a good extent, Prowl, too. He had never meant them any harm, but the way he saw it he’d had no other choice and, besides, if he could somehow find out not only what had happened to Groove, but also what had happened to countless other Autobots over the last several stellar cycles, he might be able to help shed some light on these events, and maybe then those at Iacon Central might come to understand why he’d taken such drastic actions, and perhaps even forgive him.

From one corner of a small, out-of-the-way oil house in the outer region of West Polyhex, Jazz had sat at his table, alone, for over an hour. He’d seen only two mechs walk past him in that time; one of them had been a Neutral, and the other he wasn’t sure – could have been an Autobot, though in these parts that was highly unlikely. However, it was equally unlikely that it had been a Decepticon, for several obvious reasons.

“Hey, Jazz, what’s up?”

A mech appeared in the shadows behind him, and Jazz turned his head to acknowledge him. “Do you always make it a point to sneak up on bots like that?” he asked, facing the mech.

The Autobot was larger than Jazz, and probably looked a lot more intimidating as well, though this was probably due to the upgrades he’d received during the time he’d spent with the Decepticons. He walked around to the empty seat opposite, and gazed down at Jazz. “Sorry, I guess I can’t help myself,” he said, grinning.

Jazz shook his head, gave him an easy laugh. “No need to apologize, Drift-bot. Thanks for meeting me here.” He gestured towards the chair in front of him. “Take a seat. Can I get you anything?” Jazz watched as Drift sat down, shaking his head. “Alright. So, I figured you still owe me one,” he continued, cutting to the chase.

“Yeah, I remember, Jazz. So… what can I do for you?” Drift replied.

Jazz leaned back in his seat, tapping his fingers on the table in front of him. “I just want to ask you a few questions, that’s all."

Slight concern appeared on Drift’s face. “I do something wrong?”

Jazz chuckled. “Nah, nothing like that. It has nothing to do with you, as a matter of fact.”

The Autobot stared at the special operative, rubbing his chin in thought. Jazz was the type of mech who was very difficult to work out, mostly because he played his part so well that no one could ever tell what he was hiding. “Then what’s it got to do with, Jazz?”

“The Decepticons,” Jazz replied, not pulling any punches.

“Oh.” Drift suddenly became uneasy. “Look, you know I don’t have anything to do with them, not anymore.”

“Well, I was hoping you could help me out with some information.” Jazz watched him intently, looking for any vulnerability in the mech that he could use to his advantage.

Drift inhaled deeply, then shook his head in disbelief. “I really don’t think there’s anything helpful that I can tell you about them.”

“Heh. Why don’t you just let me figure that part out?” Jazz hesitated, sensing the other’s reluctance. “I’ll tell you what; tell me exactly what I want to know, and I’ll call it even. How’s that sound?”

Drift shifted in his seat, gestured with a nod. “I can’t promise you anything, Jazz, but you can go ahead and ask.”

“Were you at the final battle when the Autobot-Neutral Alliance proclaimed victory over the Decepticon forces?”

Drift thought about Jazz’s question for a moment, and then shrugged. “No. Why?”

“Huh. No reason. Except that I wasn’t there either, nor was anyone else I‘ve asked,” Jazz replied. “Seems kind of strange, don’t it?”

“I’m not sure. As I said, I wasn’t there,” Drift asked, puzzled.

“Do you know anyone who was?” Jazz asked, unrelenting.

“Well, I mean… it was an infamous battle. There were probably several who took part. From what I recall, it’s how the Decepticons lost most of their army.” Drift paused, and the look on his face told Jazz that he wasn’t as confident as he sounded. “It should be all there in the official records. Why don’t you just go and check the Archives?”

Jazz shrugged, gestured with open palms. “See, that’s the thing, Drift. I already checked the Archives. You wanna know what I found?”

Drift was cautious. “What?”

“Nothing. Not a single name mentioned. Not even a casualty list… _nothing_.”

A moment of awkward silence followed. “Look, the Archives are huge. Maybe you weren’t looking in the right place.” Drift hesitated. “What are you trying to say, Jazz?”

“I’m not trying to say anything. I’m only asking questions, that’s all. And you still haven’t answered mine, so let me ask you again. Do you know of _anyone_ who fought in the final battle at Kaon – Decepticon or Autobot?”

The Autobot infiltration specialist turned his head away from Jazz’s unwavering gaze. “I’m sorry, Jazz, but I can’t really help you with that. I was deep undercover when it all went down. By the time I returned to base with my scouting party, it was already over. Victory for the Alliance had been officially declared… and those of us – Decepticons, I mean – who still remained, fled.”

“And you didn’t witness any casualties?” Jazz asked, curious.

Drift shook his head. “No, I was told that our fighters had all been destroyed in battle… that there weren’t any left worth salvaging.”

“That’s too bad,” Jazz said, his voice lowered, as he carefully watched Drift’s reaction.

Drift’s demeanour suddenly changed. “Eh, they had it coming to them anyway.”

“You think the Decepticons deserved what they got?” the first lieutenant probed, ignoring the other’s uneasiness.

Drift turned back to face Jazz. “I thought this wasn’t about me.”

“It isn’t. I was just wondering.” Then he changed the subject. “Look, I need some way to get in contact with them. I figured you might be able to help me with that.”

Drift became wary, and he looked at Jazz as though the black and white mech had a few transistors missing in his cranial circuits. “You can’t be serious.”

However, Jazz’s resolve remained steadfast. “I’ve never been more serious, you can count on that.”

“No way. There’s _no way_ I’m going to try and contact them for you, Jazz. You can just forget it.” Drift leaned back in his seat, his arms folded across his chest.

Jazz looked at him amusedly. “I’m not asking you to contact them for me.”

Drift’s frame relaxed slightly, but he continued to remain on guard. “But you just said–”

”I just said you might be able to help me out,” Jazz interjected. “You were practically one of them. I was hoping you might know of some way I’d be able to draw their attention without alerting the Autobots – or the Neutrals.”

Drift shook his head doubtfully. “It’s been more than a vorn since I had anything to do with them. And even if I knew of a way, there’s no guarantee it’d still work.” He hesitated. “Jazz… whatever it is you’re planning on doing, I’ve got to warn you: stay away from them. They’re extremely wary of any Autobot, and don’t like it when outsiders intrude upon their territory. Believe me, there’s no telling what they might do, especially if they know you’re on your own.”

Jazz listened quietly and when Drift had finished speaking, he nodded. “That what I need to do – intrude upon their territory?” Drift sighed, hesitated, and Jazz persisted. “I’m just asking for a sure-fire way of getting their attention, without Alliance interference.”

“Alright, Jazz. You want to know how to get their attention, I’ll tell you.” Drift had become frustrated, almost impatient, with Jazz’s stubbornness. As the special operative watched him expectantly in absolute calmness, he opened a private com link. “I’m going to transfer you an encoded distress signal.” Jazz accessed the link, and allowed the data to be transferred into his processor. When the operation was complete, Drift severed the link. “If you transmit that signal I just gave you on a secured channel, one of them should come find you. _If_ it’s still active. But just remember that it’s meant for Decepticons – there’s no telling how they might react to an Autobot.”

After a long moment in contemplation, Jazz slowly nodded. “Thanks.”

Drift shrugged. “Don’t mention it. I guess now that makes us even?” He rose from his seat, looked down at Jazz. “Just – be careful, Jazz,” he said and, without waiting for a response, turned and left the oil house.

* * *

After the meeting with Prime that morning, Ratchet had headed straight to his quarters. He had briefly considered stopping by the med bay to check on Red Alert, but then reconsidered; instead, a quick call over the com link confirmed that everything was under control, save for Groove’s critical condition.

Something within his own systems hadn’t been feeling quite right, so he’d decided to get an early recharge cycle, putting it down to the recent mission into Polyhex and the unfamiliar Decepticon technology that he and his team had unexpectedly been exposed to when they had all been teleported. It must have caused an electrical disturbance in his circuits, somehow, but despite how he felt his internal diagnostics did not indicate that anything was particularly wrong with him.

He lay down on his berth and powered down. As his mind drifted gradually into semi-consciousness he fully expected to get a full, undisturbed, seven-hour rest, but after only a few cycles it became apparent that that was not to be.

It had started like any other dream – random symbols and images that made no logical sense, conjured up from ethereal, non-corporeal realms – but that’s where the resemblance to any other dream ended.

Ratchet found himself back at the mausoleum, standing before the familiar statue of his best friend. He looked around in alarm and then down at his own frame, touched his arm in an effort to determine whether he was real. As far as he could tell, he was not in any dream.

“Ratch?” a familiar voice called out to him and he spun around, almost drawing his weapon.

There was only one mech who had ever dared call him by his nickname. “Wheeljack?” he called back apprehensively. No; this must be another Decepticon trick, he thought with a sense of loathing.

“Ratch, over here.”

Ratchet spun back around to face the statue, and froze in shock. There, right in front of him, stood Wheeljack, more solid and life-like than he’d ever remembered him to be.

For a moment, he completely forgot where he was or how he’d come to be here, but as his initial shock subsided, he wondered whether the mech that stood before him wasn’t some sort of cruel illusion – the Decepticons, somehow, playing with his memories and emotions in an attempt to break him down. “You’re not Wheeljack.” His voice sounded odd to his audio receptors; rough, distant. “You… you can’t be.”

“Ratch, you’re the only one who can set things right.” It was unmistakeably Wheeljack, right down to his mannerisms and posture, the way he’d always stand with his knees bent, feet slightly apart. “Please, time’s running out.”

Ratchet hesitated, confused. “But you’re – you’re not even real.”

Wheeljack seemed to ignore his words, and instead took a step closer towards the medic. “Voice override command: nine, zero, four, three, three, one, zero, Cyber Jack.”

Ratchet stared back at him in confusion. It sounded like Wheeljack had given him some sort of access code, but any more than that he could not guess what it might be for or what, if anything, he was meant to do with it.

He felt his world slowly fading, being pulled back to some distant, other reality, and he tried to hang on, fearful that another opportunity like this might not come again. “Wait–” he called out, and hesitated as he tried to make sense of what was happening. “How do I know it’s really you?”

Wheeljack began to dematerialize in front of him, and Ratchet rushed forwards, reaching out a hand, but it passed right through his best friend. Before the apparition faded completely from his vision, however, it spoke to him again, his familiar voice still clear. “You made me a promise, Ratch. Find my research notes, and you will find the answers.”

“No, wait–” Ratchet replied suddenly, desperately trying to hold on to what must have been an activated memory fragment. But it was too late; his friend was gone. All that remained in his place was his lifeless statue, a poor tribute to the once lively and high-spirited Autobot engineer.

Before he knew what was happening, Ratchet found himself back in his quarters, his systems fully online. He checked his internal chronometer in confusion, and realized that the recharge cycle had only just begun.

* * *

Several Autobots were gathered inside communications central. Most of them were between shifts, and after that morning’s meeting they felt compelled to discuss their concerns with each other but also, for many, share their frustrations.

“Something’s up with Prime. He’s not acting like himself anymore,” Ironhide complained, trying to keep his voice below normal audio range but failing. Hot Spot and Silverbolt stood on either side of him, while Bluestreak, Hot Rod and Trailbreaker were also with them, forming a small circle.

“He’s had a lot on his mind lately. Maybe you should cut him a little slack, Ironhide,” Trailbreaker responded.

Ironhide looked doubtful. “Well, I hope you’re right, ‘Breaker. ‘Cause I don’t know how much longer I can just stand by and watch while the Decepti-creeps run around free, and there’s not a darn thing that any of us can do about it,” he said, his words filled with frustration.

“You’re not the only one who feels that way,” Hot Spot informed him. “Streetwise? Didn’t take it too well at all. I’m worried he’s going to go and do something he’ll end up regretting… and Blades now, too.”

“Well, I don’t blame ‘em,” the munitions expert replied. “In fact, I have half a mind to tell Prime exactly what I think about his latest order.”

“You’re not thinking of defying him, are you?” Bluestreak asked nervously, looking worried that Ironhide would even consider taking such a stand.

Ironhide shook his head. “Nah, I’d never go against Prime’s wishes, Blue, no matter how much I might disagree with them. But I must admit the thought did cross my mind a few times since the meeting this morning.”

“So we’re supposed to just let the Decepticons go free?” Silverbolt joined in, his tone incredulous. He had not been present at the meeting, and did not quite believe Prowl when the Chief of Security had filled him in on Prime’s latest orders.

“Straight from the boss’s mouth,” Ironhide replied.

“I don’t get it. They wouldn’t think twice about turning us all into scrap metal, so why should we treat _them_ any better?” the leader of the Aerialbots continued.

“Well, if you ask me Prime did the only thing he could have done. It’s the only way we’re going to defeat our enemies once and for all.” This time it was Hot Rod who had spoken. He received puzzled looks, as if he had just spoken ancient Cybertronian.

“What in the name of Primus are you talking about, Rodimus?” Ironhide asked him, but Hot Rod did not get an opportunity to respond because in that same moment, a familiar voice addressed the small circle of Autobots.

“Don’t you all have something else you ought to be doing?”

It was Optimus Prime, standing at the entrance to the communications complex. His arms were crossed in front of him.

Ironhide turned to face him, slightly self-conscious. He had no idea how long Prime had actually been standing there, listening in on their conversation. “Ah… sorry, Prime. Now that you mention it, I do have a few errands to run,” he explained, before heading off.

Bluestreak and Trailbreaker stepped past Optimus on their way out, giving their leader a respectful nod, while Hot Spot and Silverbolt watched them go before they also went their separate ways. Hot Rod was the last to leave the communications area, and as he went to follow the others out, he felt a strong hand upon his shoulder.

“Wait, Hot Rod. Not you,” Optimus said.

“Sir?” The red and orange warrior looked towards his leader expectantly.

“What did you mean when you said it’s the only way to defeat our enemies, and that it was the only thing I could have done?”

“Huh?” There was a distant look in Hot Rod’s optics as if he were trying to fathom something that was impossible for him to unravel.

“Hot Rod,” Optimus prompted, giving the Autobot warrior a stern look. “What did you mean by that?”

“Oh, I’ve never experienced anything like it before. That weird teleportation thing that happened to us yesterday? It must have activated some dormant circuitry or something within me, because I had another vision, only this time it was much more real than any of the others I’ve ever had before,” he explained. “It felt so life-like.”

Optimus withdrew his hand from Hot Rod’s shoulder, inhaling deeply. “Go on.”

Hot Rod shrugged. “I don’t really understand what it all meant, to be honest, but… it’s like I could see two different realities. I think it was showing me our possible futures.”

“Our futures?”

“Yeah, our,” Hot Rod repeated. “I mean, Cybertron’s. The Autobots’, you know?” As Hot Rod spoke, his gaze drifted about the room as if he were searching for something that he couldn’t quite see. “In one future, there was devastation everywhere. All the Autobots, we were gone. It looked like the Great Devastation had hit Cybertron.” He paused as he recalled the horrific scene from his vision, and his expression took on a sombreness that Optimus rarely saw from him.

“I see,” the Autobot leader said in a lowered voice.

“The other future…” Hot Rod shook his head slowly, as if momentarily confused. “The other future was the complete opposite. All the Autobots, we were all okay. And everything was okay, you know? Like there was finally peace, and… and we’d _won_.” His gaze fixed upon Optimus as he spoke the last word.

It was not the first time that Hot Rod had confided in him about a vision he’d experienced. They had all turned out to be accurate in one way or another, and Optimus knew better than to simply ignore them, especially when they contained such powerful clues.

Optimus slowly nodded, considering Hot Rod’s words carefully. “Then we must do all we can to ensure that a second Great Devastation does not occur.” With deep regret, he realized that the decision he had made recently must have been in error, and he bowed his head. “It seems then, that I’ve made a grave mistake by going against the High Council’s directive.”

Hot Rod, startled, gripped the Autobot leader by his forearm. “What? No… no, no, no… you don’t understand, Optimus,” he said, alarmed. Optimus looked up at him uncertainly. “Look, I know how this is going to sound, but it’s what I saw. I don’t know how to explain it.” Hot Rod paused, struggling to find the right words. He shook his head in confusion. “The Decepticons – they were with us.” His optics focused intently upon Optimus Prime as he relived his vision in his mind, mesmerized by it. “And there was no more darkness.”

* * *

Firestar performed a final test of the rebuilt long range scanner they had salvaged from their ship, and then moved away from the work bench, pleased with their team effort. “Alright. We’re all done here.” She looked over at Elita One, who had just disconnected her secure com link. “Elita?”

“Hm?” The femme commander looked across at Firestar, then walked over to her.

“I’ve also hooked up a basic alarm system.”

Elita nodded, hands on hips. “Good work, Firestar.” She hesitated, thinking. “Let me know if you pick up any Cybertronian life signs.”

Firestar nodded, and thought that she could sense what was on Elita’s mind. “Are you worried about Astrotrain?” Elita had informed her about their recent encounter with the Decepticon, and it was the first thing that came to mind as she noticed her commander’s slightly concerned expression. “He knows we’re here, on Alternity City.”

Elita sighed, looking up towards the building’s run-down ceiling. She shook her head. “This isn’t Cybertron, ‘Star. We could encounter far worse than a bunch of Decepticons.”

“Still.” But Firestar left it at that. She had to admit that Elita had a point; Alternity City was home to the most contemptible cybernetic and mechanistic life forms in the Sector, far worse than had ever existed on their home planet. “Speaking of Cybertron, we might be able to rig up a long distance transmitter with some spare parts we have lying around.” She turned towards Moonracer, who was busy studying a map of Binaltech. “’Racer?”

“Binaltech’s got _everything_!” the green femme blurted out, fixated on her map.

“’Racer! Do we have enough to build a transmitter?” Firestar asked, ignoring her friend’s fascination with the mega-city.

Moonracer finally looked up, distracted. “Huh? Oh, umm, not sure… hold on one astro-sec.” She got up from her seat and sprinted over to the makeshift bench nearby, sifted through various items. After about a cycle, she looked back towards them with an uncertain expression. “Well, our beam array was damaged so we’ll need a new one of those… but, other than that, shouldn’t be a problem,” she explained, shrugging in a casual manner.

Firestar nodded. “Thanks.” She turned back to Elita. “You’d be able to send a message to Optimus… let him know what’s happened. Just a thought.”

Elita was about to say something in response, but then stopped herself. Instead she paced across the room to one of the building’s viewing apertures and looked out into the alley beyond. Silence fell for a long moment. “I–” She shook her head. “We need a few replacement parts, anyway.” Turning to look back at the three of them, she added, “There’s someone here who may be able to help us,” then picked up some equipment and backup weapons, handed them out to her crew. “I’ll worry about Optimus later. Come on,” she said, walking towards the building’s entrance.

Once they’d all stepped outside, Chromia secured the door behind her with an encryption code. “Where are we going?” she called out, but Elita One had already transformed into her car mode and was racing ahead down the alley, leading the way southward.

“Binaltech,” Moonracer replied, smiling happily. Then the remaining three femmes transformed and followed after their team leader.

* 

Chromia looked out across one of the bustling city streets and briefly scanned the towering, multi-level structures that filled every square inch of the inner city spaces. She nodded towards the largest metallic facade situated directly across the road from them. “Well, that one looks like some kind of mega-complex for spare parts. Anyone got any credits?”

Elita One shook her head. “No.” Her team mates, all in robot mode, kept close by her side. She continued to walk down the main street, as multitudes of passers-by continually moved past them in restless waves. “Come on.”

“This place sure is _busy_!” Moonracer exclaimed, mesmerized, as Chromia grabbed her by the arm and prompted her onwards.

Elita One and her crew made their way through an access tunnel that led down one level beneath the city, until they arrived at a crowded, underground communications hub. A myriad of mechanical life forms were packed around terminals, or waited their turn in long queues, eager to use the public communications exchange services.

But the Autobot femme commander kept moving, leading the way along a wide, well-lit transport route until they had left the hubbub of the exchange far behind. The enclosed passage before them gave way to a more secluded, quieter section of the city sub-level, where the route terminated at a large, rounded structure. A sealed entranceway was its only discernible feature. “Well, this is the place,” Elita One announced, standing before the dome-like structure. Her expression was one of uncertainty.

“Are you sure?” Chromia asked her.

Elita strode towards the sleek, curved door and pushed a button on the access panel. “We’ll find out.” Sure enough, after a few moments the door retracted into the wall and a tall, blue and white Cybertronian mech with an athletic build stepped out to investigate.

“Devcon,” she acknowledged with a nod, and the mech quickly scanned the area, looked at each of the femmes in turn before beckoning them all inside.

“Elita One, welcome to my little corner of the galaxy,” he said, as the door slid quietly closed behind them. The interior of the structure was deceptively larger than what it seemed from the outside. It was a softly-lit, well adorned space that contained several gaming tables, while a small bar occupied a far corner.

Elita One looked around at the private gambling room and the handful of patrons who were absorbed in their games, and gave a subtle shake of her head. “You run this place?”

Devcon showed the femmes to an empty table, and they each took a seat. “Nah, I’m just visiting. I’m good friends with the owner.” He clasped his hands together and smiled at them. “Can I get you lovely femmes anything?” Moonracer returned his smile, but said nothing.

“No,” Elita replied. “We won’t stay long.” She paused, watching him with interest. “It’s been a while, Devcon. Didn’t think I’d find you here on Alternity City, of all places.”

Devcon shrugged. “There’s plenty of work for me in Binaltech alone – the place is crawling with low lives.” He leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table top. “So, I hear Cybertron Command isn’t too happy with you.”

The femme commander slowly nodded her head, surprised that the word had spread so quickly. “You could say that.”

Devcon shook his head in disbelief. “Wow,” he said, and looked back at the femmes in contemplation. “Time sure changes things, doesn’t it?”

Elita did not respond to his comment, but inhaled deeply. “You’re still hunting fugitives, then?”

“Fugitives, criminals, scum bags – you name it.” Devcon smiled at her, his manner easy going and relaxed. “It’s good to see you again, Elita. I’m glad you thought of me,” he added.

“Well, this wasn’t exactly a planned visit,” she replied, shrugging. “Our cruiser was attacked just before we arrived here. We lost all our energy reserves, and most of our equipment. Not to mention we have no way of getting off this planet. I was hoping that you might be able to help us out.”

Devcon looked at her, intrigued, and then gazed at the other three femmes. “Are you all looking to return to Cybertron, then?”

Chromia glanced across at Elita. “Since we’re already here, we figured we may as well hang around a while – see what we can find out about the strange stuff that’s been happening within the Sector. Many Autobots are being targeted, and we want to know why.”

The Autobot crusader listened intently, and then replied. “Funny you should mention that. I‘ve been following a few clues myself.” His expression changed to quizzical. “I don’t suppose you know anything about the underground base in Hitec?”

Elita shook her head, while the other three femmes drew blank expressions. “Sorry, I don’t know anything about it.”

“Huh,” Devcon replied. “No matter.” Then he looked across to the bar, indicated to the bartender with an open hand. When he looked back towards the femmes, he changed the subject. “So, do you have any idea who attacked your cruiser?”

The femme commander shook sighed in resignation. “No idea. All we know is that whoever it was, they were cloaked.”

“Cloaked, huh?” Devcon watched as the bartender brought over a tray holding five containers of energon and set each container down on the table in front of them. “Please, it’s on me,” he said, indicated for each of the femmes to take one. Once the bartender had left, Devcon lowered his voice instinctively, leaned across the table top. “I happen to know of only two outfits on Alternity City that might have access to that kind of technology.”

“Hmm, let me guess – Decepticons?” Firestar interjected, as she took a sip from one of the energon containers.

Devcon looked directly into her optics. “Nope.”

Chromia shrugged, perplexed. “The Predacons?”

He gave her a brief tilt of his head. “It’s certainly possible, but unlikely. Most of them went quiet after the Great War and haven’t been seen on Alternity City for many stellar cycles.” Devcon lifted his container of energon to his lips, took a gulp.

“Then, who?” Chromia asked curiously.

“The Supremacists from the base in Hitec, as I mentioned earlier, or…” He paused for emphasis, watching the femmes’ reaction, but they said nothing further as they met his gaze expectantly. “Or, the Neutrals,” Devcon concluded, though with a little more uncertainty.


	10. Chapter 10

Inside the conference room of the famous Command Center in Iacon Central, Prowl checked the incoming alert and immediately opened a communications link to Optimus Prime. “Sir, Sentinel has arrived. I’ll send a security team to greet him right away.”

“No, Prowl. I’ll do that myself. Thank you,” the Autobot Commander’s voice answered him after a momentary pause.

“Understood.” Prowl disconnected the link and sat back in his chair, allowing his thoughts to return to the Autobot he’d just finished interviewing. In the stillness of the room he went over the responses in his mind, then checked the name and designation of the next Autobot who was scheduled to present himself for a review that morning, and right on cycle the door chimed. Prowl stood and moved over to it, pressed the button on the access panel, and took a few seconds to survey the Autobot waiting on the other side of the door as it opened. Beckoning the Autobot to enter, he did so without hesitation then took a seat at the conference table without waiting to be asked.

Prowl sat down again in his seat and watched him with his usual, impassive manner. “State your name and function.”

“My name is Roadburn; my function is Class 4 Courier, sir.”

Prowl nodded slightly. “Where are you currently stationed?”

The red Autobot held a steady gaze, almost expressionless, as he answered the questions without hesitation. “I am currently stationed at the Transport Control Tower of the Autobot-Neutral Command Outpost in Antihex.”

Prowl nodded again; so far, the replies were standard. Now for a not-so-standard question. “You were one of the Autobots who was reported missing on star date 143601.4.70. Are you aware of what happened to you?”

“No, sir. I was not aware that I was missing or absent from my station for any length of time.”

“What were you doing on that star date?”

“Performing my duties, sir.”

Prowl watched the Autobot’s behaviour closely. Roadburn was lying, or his memory had been compromised; either way, Prowl didn’t like the responses he was getting – in addition, they were almost identical to the previous Autobot’s responses. Finally he rose and indicated for Roadburn to leave the room. “You are hereby relieved from active duty until further notice. You are to submit to a complete systems check at the maintenance and repair bay immediately. Is that understood?”

Roadburn slowly stood and walked past Prowl towards the exit. “Understood, sir,” he replied, letting himself out and starting down the hall without looking back.

* * *

_Nine, zero, four, three, three, one, zero, Cyber Jack._

The code kept repeating over and over in his mind.

Ratchet had not been able to power down again for a recharge. His thoughts kept returning to the vivid dream he had experienced and, after several breems of attempting to dismiss the whole thing as just some silly glitch of his memory, his curiosity and indomitable need to unravel the mystery of his best friend’s untimely disappearance had finally gotten the better of him.

He’d headed out to east Iacon, alone, in the hopes that, by some small miracle, he’d be able to make some sense of his dream.

But the closer he got to Wheeljack’s old workshop, the less likely it seemed. Perhaps he was wasting his time and besides, there were more important things he could have been doing, such as making sure that Optimus Prime and the rest of those who’d participated in the recent mission to Polyhex had not been adversely affected by the strange effects brought on by the teleportation; they’d have no other choice but to submit themselves to a thorough check-up upon his say-so, should he decide to exercise his authority on the matter.

Still, some basic, instinctive part of him would not allow him to stop or turn back. So he kept driving, his thoughts continually returning to that same, cryptic message.

_Nine, zero, four, three, three, one, zero, Cyber Jack._

He had already checked and rechecked Wheeljack’s research notes, thoroughly and several times, over the past vorn. In fact, he knew them back to front. Every line of code, every description of the plague, even down to every last comment his friend had inserted after each new piece of experimental data. He wasn’t sure, exactly, what bothered him more; that the only new lead he had to go on had come from some dubious vision he’d just experienced or that, for the life of him, he could not figure out what Wheeljack’s cryptic message could possibly mean, if there was any validity to it at all.

He pulled up outside of the workshop and transformed into robot mode. Approaching the building, he input his access code and watched as the door quietly slid open, then activated the overhead lights and quietly looked around. Wheeljack’s research notes would not be here; Ratchet had removed them long ago, had locked them away inside a secure storage facility off-site for safe keeping.

 _‘You made me a promise, Ratch. Find my research notes, and you will find the answers.’_ That’s what puzzled him the most. He already _had_ the research notes, and there wasn’t anything in them that could help him find any sort of real answers.

“Dammit, Wheeljack,” he said aloud, venting his frustration. “If you think that by some miracle I’m going to save your sorry aft–” The research notes. Wait a micro-second. What if…

What if… the research notes that Wheeljack had referred to in his vision were not the same ones Ratchet had found in the engineer’s old workshop? He wasn’t aware that there might even be a second set of notes, as yet undiscovered; in fact, the possibility hadn’t even crossed his mind – not even once – until now.

Either way, it was still a long shot. But what else could he do? He had nothing to lose, so he carefully set about searching the room for anything that might remotely resemble research data that had been previously overlooked. It was a pointless exercise, he knew, but he decided that he needed to start somewhere.

After going through all the usual places – inside drawers, on shelves, inside storage units – he realized that he would have to do better. Perhaps Wheeljack had hidden his research notes. It certainly wasn’t out of the question, particularly if he had wanted to keep them away from prying optics. For what reason Ratchet had no inkling, but he had to entertain all possibilities if he was going to uncover any new information, however unlikely it was.

He walked over to one end of the main work bench, and looked down at the data pad lying there. Disconnecting it from the main terminal, he gently put it aside and then powered up the terminal, watching as it suddenly flickered to life.

Scanning through the saved files, he could see nothing immediately suspicious. He’d already searched through this database before, but it had never occurred to him that Wheeljack might have locked the research notes away in some inaccessible location. So with this in mind, Ratchet narrowed his search to display only high security clearance files.

He stared at the display screen in utter surprise. “Well, I’ll be damned…” There, as clear as day, were a set of research notes. He immediately noted the date stamp on them – they were an earlier copy. Wheeljack‘s original notes.

Ratchet hit a few keys on the terminal’s control panel, and the words ‘Access denied’ appeared across the screen. The files required some sort of security code to open.

_Access code. Voice override command._

_Nine, zero, four, three, three, one, zero, Cyber Jack._

That must be it. Ratchet took a moment to gather his thoughts, preparing himself for the discovery of some untold secret the files had been closely guarding for more than a vorn – if, indeed, there was one. “Nine… zero… four… three… three… one… zero… Cyber Jack,” he said aloud and, after a tentative few seconds, the computer replied with the message: ‘Voice command accepted.’

Ratchet inhaled deeply. “Alright, old friend, show me what you got,” he said, and began to read through the notes.

* * *

Sentinel Prime exuded just as much power and authority as Optimus Prime remembered of him. He stood tall, accompanied by a small, personal legion of Neutral warriors, and regarded the Autobot leader with an air of unspoken eminence as he approached. “Ah. Optimus Prime… it is good to speak with you again. How long has it been?”

“Too long, old friend. Too long,” Optimus greeted his predecessor and mentor, watching him with reserved awe. Though Sentinel was physically larger, Optimus’ single-minded purpose and strong-willed determination placed him on an equal footing with the former Autobot. He noted Sentinel’s entourage, but said nothing of it.

Sentinel smiled confidently. “I understand that you have something urgent you wish to discuss?”

“Yes. Thank you for coming at such short notice.” Optimus indicated for him to follow him into the Command Center.

“I came as quickly as I could.” Sentinel turned to his security team, directed them to remain outside before he followed the Autobot leader inside the command post unaccompanied.

They walked together along the brightly-lit halls in silence for a short while until Optimus spoke again, his pace steady. “Were all those guards really necessary?”

There was a pause as Sentinel assessed his question before shrugging it off. “One can never be too careful, especially with the recent Decepticon attacks.” Another pause, and then, “Of course, I’d be more than happy to send you extra reinforcements. Perhaps we could discuss some defensive strategies whilst I am here?”

Optimus did not give him a response but instead showed the former Autobot leader into an unoccupied briefing room adjacent to communications central, where they would be able to speak in confidence. He ordered for high-grade refreshments to be brought to them, all the while contemplating Sentinel’s position. It wasn’t until the attendant had served them their drinks and had closed the door behind him as he left that Optimus finally answered Sentinel. “Do you believe the Decepticons are responsible?”

At first, Sentinel seemed taken aback by his question, but his hint of incredulity was quickly replaced by concern. “Do not drop your guard in the face of the enemy, Optimus Prime. Do not allow yourself to be deceived, or permit the seeds of doubt to take root within you. The moment you do that is the very moment that you have lost the battle.” He kept his gaze fixed upon the Autobot Commander, watching him intently, and then leaned forward slightly. “I sense doubt in you. Have you forgotten who and what you are?”

Optimus tapped his fingers lightly on the table top, and slowly exhaled. “No. I only seek the truth, Sentinel.”

The red and black Prime straightened, taking on an authoritative posture. “The truth? Isn’t it obvious?” Optimus did not answer, so he softened his tone somewhat. “Perhaps if you would tell me what is troubling you I can do something to help. But if you don’t talk…”

Optimus sighed, slowly nodded. “There have been… some incidents… that I have yet to fully understand.”

Sentinel was unwavering in his reassurance. “Do not be fooled by those things that only your physical senses tell you, for such distractions are only there to test you, Optimus. Think of such things as a guiding force only, helping to forge you and strengthen your resolve. All great leaders must travel the warrior’s path, and conquer it, should they wish to defeat their enemies.” He paused for a long while, contemplating his former student. “Do you remember what I told you long ago? I warned you about the coming of the Great War, and what would occur should any Decepticon be allowed to remain functional.” Optimus remained motionless, listening to his words. “Did not the Great War come to pass, exactly as I had foretold? Do you doubt the validity of my words, just as I spoke them all those vorns ago? Tell me, Optimus Prime, he who seeks the truth… what is it that you are afraid of?” Optimus forced himself to look away, the intensity of the other’s gaze somehow too much to bear, but Sentinel was relentless, as if he could glimpse directly into his spark and capture the essence of his very being. “If you truly care about Cybertron, and the danger that the Autobots must soon confront, then you will listen very carefully to what I have to tell you.”

“What do you mean? What danger?” Optimus’ optics glowered, suddenly alerted, and for an instant nothing else mattered to him but the safety of his home planet and all those who ultimately depended upon him.

Sentinel gave him a knowing nod. Now that he had the Prime’s full attention, he was certain that his message would not be easily dismissed. “You must forgive my hesitation, but I did not want to say anything until I was absolutely certain.”

“You must tell me what you know.” Optimus’ voice was tense, though he tried his best not to show his uneasiness.

Sentinel’s expression hardened. “I have received information that the Decepticons have been covertly gathering their forces from all over the Sector, for some time now. They plan to attack soon – but you will not realise it until it is too late. If nothing is done, Iacon will be the first city to fall, and before the third day it shall lie in ruins.” Optimus imagined that he felt a barely discernible drop in the room’s temperature, an eerie coldness that had suddenly rushed forth to occupy the space in their midst. “Together, we _must_ stop them before they bring about the war that will end all wars.”

“No, it’s not possible. The Decepticons were defeated during the battle at Kaon. They are no match against the Alliance.” Optimus understood full well Sentinel’s uncanny ability to know things he couldn’t otherwise have known; his former teacher had accurately predicted the last Great War before it had happened in a way that Optimus had never grasped – yet it had all come to pass exactly as he’d described, including the Dark Plague and the unexpected end to the war. He was reminded that Sentinel never revealed the identity of any of his sources, though it was rumoured that he utilized the services of highly trained informants who were able to infiltrate any command structure without too much trouble.

_The war that will end all wars…_

Sentinel nodded in understanding. “Indeed. However, things have changed. I do not know how, but they will return in full force, and will refuse to negotiate with us. Time is of the essence.”

Optimus slowly leaned forward, this sudden revelation news to him. “How can you know this?”

Sentinel only gave him a shrug and a small smile as reassurance. “I have my sources.”

“There have been rumours of a Neutral takeover.” Optimus’ voice remained calm, despite the seriousness of the allegation.

The former Prime held his gaze steady. “That is preposterous. Where did you hear such rumours?”

Optimus lowered his voice, yet the conviction in his words remained. “I, too, have my sources.”

“Surely you do not believe there is any truth to them?” Sentinel’s voice wavered, and he inhaled deeply before continuing. “It is clear, then, why you have come to doubt our cause. You cannot allow yourself to be weakened by those who would deceive you. The Autobots rely on your strength. The Alliance needs you, Optimus Prime, now more than ever. Tell me, are you willing to throw away our future because you are prepared to listen to such lies?”

“Of course not. However, I cannot believe that my own trusted warriors would lie to me.”

“Ah, yes. Dare I mention your trusted Jazz, who disobeyed direct orders in an act of utter betrayal? Or, perhaps, your precious Elita One… who, along with her merry crew, departed on an unauthorized expedition into the Gamma Sector only to be brought down by the enemy, and who now remains stranded on Alternity City?” Sentinel spoke candidly, almost harshly, in order to drive home his point.

Optimus visibly stiffened at the mention of Elita’s name as anger stirred within him, though he wasn’t sure whether it should have been directed towards Sentinel, or Elita herself. “Elita One… is she alright?”

Sentinel’s countenance softened once more, a glimmer of empathy in his optics. “For now. Though, I fear for her safety. There are many on Alternity City who would seek to harm her should they discover her whereabouts. You were not aware of her situation?”

The Autobot leader shook his head. “No. We have not spoken since she left.” He looked up at him suddenly. “I must go to her.”

“No,” Sentinel told him firmly. “You are needed here, on Cybertron. But you needn’t worry; I can arrange to have her returned to you, if you so wish.”

Optimus hesitated. It was an offer that he found very hard to turn down. On the other hand, however, doing so would only serve to widen the existing rift that had come between him and Elita One. Ultimately, though, her safety was more important to him than any resentment she may be feeling towards him. He finally nodded in acquiescence. “Make sure that she comes to no harm.”

Sentinel smiled graciously, glad to be of help. “Of course – you have my word. Now, as for Jazz, I can send additional search parties to assist in apprehending him–”

“No,” Optimus cut in before the other could finish his sentence. “That won’t be necessary. He has been granted a special leave of absence.”

“I see.” Sentinel looked back at him with a wary optic. “You still trust him, don’t you?”

Optimus wondered just how much Sentinel knew about Jazz’s off-the-record mission, and was about to reply when he was interrupted by the beeping of his com link. He observed Sentinel silently, allowing several moments to pass before answering his com. “Go ahead.”

“Prime, this is Prowl. Sideswipe’s just arrived. He is demanding to speak with you, sir.”

“Tell him I’ll be there shortly–”

He was cut off by Prowl, whose voice sounded terse and strained. “Prime, I think you should deal with him as soon as possible.”

Optimus did not need to be told a second time; the urgency in Prowl’s voice, more than anything else, indicated that something was wrong. “Very well. I’m on my way.” He disconnected the link and looked back at Sentinel. “I’m afraid that something has come up. Perhaps we could continue this discussion later?” He rose from his chair and moved across to open the briefing room door.

Sentinel followed him out, smiling warmly. “Ah, of course – your duty as Autobot Commander must always come first.”

* * *

The first waking thought that passed through Sunstreaker’s processor as he regained consciousness was that he had crossed over into the heavenly abode of Sparks, guided by the Light of Primus. Then his short-term memory module kicked in, and he remembered his encounter with the rather unconventional, outspoken, reluctant Decepticon who had told him his name was Comet. He recalled the unfortunate events that had landed him in here, inside a secure scrap metal recycling facility in Hitec, owned and controlled by the self-proclaimed Master of the Universe himself – though to everyone else he was known as the one and only High Commander of the Subterranean Base. Or was that the Supreme High Commander? He wasn’t quite sure.

Not that it really mattered. What mattered was that he was still alive, yet those who he had left behind on Cybertron more than a century ago were in very real danger. It had taken him all this time to fully comprehend the true extent of the evil that was the Autobot-Neutral Alliance, and the bizarre, controlled manipulation that was behind the Dark Plague and, most probably, the last Great War as well. But the implications were profound and he became overwhelmed by it all, at a loss to know exactly what to do with the knowledge he had gained, and he realized, with grim clarity, that this very knowledge had almost cost him his life.

From the edge of his optical sensors he could see Comet, his back turned to him, working on some kind of device that he was putting together from junked parts, and he hesitated. He looked down at his damaged and heavily beaten frame and gently willed his right hand to move, then his left knee joint. Relieved, he slowly pushed himself up onto both elbows and gently repositioned himself until he was sitting. It seemed that Comet had, indeed, fixed him, just as he’d said he would. But despite his apparent deed of kindness, Sunstreaker’s programmed survival instincts told him not to trust any mech who even remotely resembled a Decepticon, regardless of their words or deeds, and he imagined fatally damaging the seeker’s spark chamber, permanently deactivating him with his electron pulse blaster whilst he had his back turned.

Berating himself for his instinctive programming and for allowing such imaginings to flow through his processor, he grunted, reminding himself that Comet, despite all outward appearances, _had_ saved his life. Regardless of whether or not the life-saving act had been intrinsically selfish or not, he owed the seeker at least the same in return.

Comet glanced back at him, alerted to the Autobot’s conscious state by the grunt from his vocal processor. “Oh. You’re awake. Good. I can do with some help.”

Sunstreaker watched as Comet returned to his task, and for a long while remained where he was. He had no idea whether the seeker could be trusted, but after his recent ordeal at the hands of the High Commander, Comet did not concern him nearly as much as he once would have. He slowly stood up, careful not to place unnecessary strain on his newly repaired linkage, and made his way over to Comet. Standing shakily on his feet, he dropped down to sit beside him. “Not sure what I can do to help. I’m a warrior… not a mechanic,” he said. “Besides, I’m dangerously low… on fuel,” he added uncomfortably, trying to ignore his internal warning systems alerting him to his low power situation. He was quietly thankful, at least, that his vocal processor was returning to normal functioning.

Comet responded without skipping a beat, putting down his current project carefully on the ground and reaching across to pick up a dirty canister that was half-filled with a translucent pink fluid. “Here, this should get you through another couple of days, at least.”

“Ah, thanks.” Sunstreaker tentatively reached out to grab it. “What about you?”

Comet shrugged. “I’m fine.”

“Oh.” Sunstreaker ingested the fuel, and then placed the emptied can down on the ground. He sat there in silence for a time, allowing his internal fuel converter to process the liquid into a useable form of energy. “So… what’s that you’re building?” he said finally, nodding towards the device.

Comet picked it up again and proceeded to connect two loose wires together. As he did so, a surge of energy suddenly crackled across the connection. Comet quickly disconnected the wires before the surge caused the power pack to overload, and then shook his head and sighed, handing Sunstreaker the device. “Here – maybe you can get it to work.”

Sunstreaker took the assembly and carefully examined it, turning it over in his hands. Comet stood up, his attention now diverted to the sealed doors of the facility as he began to walk over to them. Sunstreaker followed the wiring from the terminals of the power pack unit to the rest of the makeshift assembly and then gently put it down again, silently admiring Comet’s valiant attempt at putting together a triggered explosive from a collection of discarded and mismatched components. It could almost work, except… “I can see your difficulty. You need a regulator.”

Comet attempted to force the door’s control panel away from its wall recess, but the presence of the energy barrier made the task impossible. Nonetheless, he kept trying. “Yes, but I don’t have one at hand, unfortunately.”

The tall, yellow Autobot slowly stood up and looked around. He saw the many piles of scrap metal that filled the space around them and watched as powerful machinery nearby continually processed the material. His mind once again brought his electron pulse blaster to his conscious awareness, and he transformed his right hand and forearm, revealing his weapon. Holding it with a firm grip, he felt reassured by its presence and the feeling of power that it gave him as his finger played with the trigger. He saw Comet turn to look at him, standing motionless and on alert, and he flipped the weapon around in his hand with one swift, easy motion, before holding it out for the seeker to take. “You do now,” he said.

Comet made his way back to him, keeping his optics focused upon the weapon but reluctant to accept it. He shook his head. “You’re going to need it. We’ll find another regulator–”

Sunstreaker interrupted him. “Just take it. If we don’t… get out of here alive, my weapon’s not going to be of any use to us… now is it?” His tone of voice was insistent, and even a touch aggressive.

Comet observed the Autobot with interest, and realized that he probably wouldn’t take no for an answer, so he accepted his offer and took the weapon. Then he began to disassemble it.

* * *

Sideswipe tried to ignore the sidelong glances being cast his way as he looked about the large, enclosed waiting area on the ground floor of the Command Center. At first, Prowl had told him that it wasn’t the best time to speak to Prime and had refused him entry, but then Sideswipe had insisted, threatening to make a scene outside the Center if his request to see Prime continued to be ignored, so Prowl had reluctantly agreed to let him inside, and had told him to wait.

Sideswipe became more agitated with every passing second until, after what felt to him like stellar cycles, he saw Prowl emerge from the entrance beyond the visitor area, Optimus Prime by his side. He rushed forwards in anticipation; there was so much that he wanted – no, _needed_ – to say. “Optimus!” he began in greeting, approaching the Prime Commander, but then took a step back in sudden shock, gazing upon the larger frame of Sentinel Prime as the leader of the Neutrals stepped into full view from behind Optimus. For one tense moment Sideswipe stood there frozen, as if petrified and unable to speak or move. Then his optics widened with alarm and what looked to be dread, recoiling inwardly as his defensive mechanisms fully engaged.

Optimus, noticing his panic, attempted to dissipate the tension as he looked for a way to try and prevent what he feared might happen next. “Sideswipe, it is good to see you again.” He stepped slowly forwards, extending a hand out to the Autobot, but Sideswipe was no longer registering his presence, his audial sensors now deaf to his words.

In a move that took everyone by surprise, Sideswipe retrieved his missile launcher from its shoulder mount and pointed it directly at Sentinel, all the while not taking his optics off the former Prime. “You!” His warrior instincts kicking in, he momentarily redirected the launcher towards Prowl, fully prepared to make good on his unspoken threat if the Chief of Security made a wrong move to try and intervene. “Don’t!”

Prowl glanced towards Optimus, ready and willing to take whatever action was necessary to stop Sideswipe from making a fatal mistake, but the Autobot leader gave him no indication to that effect. Instead, he gave Prowl a silent shake of his head that told him to stand down. Optimus would try to handle the situation his own way, before the use of force became necessary.

Sideswipe watched this interaction and, aware that Optimus would try to negotiate with him in a peaceful manner, used the opportunity to confront Sentinel Prime, training his missile launcher back towards him. The large entry hall suddenly fell quiet as several Autobots and Neutrals stopped what they were doing to watch the unfolding confrontation. “ _You_ …” Sideswipe spoke in a soft, ominous tone, his launcher shaking from the unbridled anger and humiliation that had taken hold of him. “My brother was right about you… he was right about you all along… but you had us all fooled, didn’t you?” He shook his head slowly in disgust, giving Sentinel a twisted sneer. “Tell them!” he shouted abruptly, and Prowl instinctively reached for his weapon, but Optimus held out a hand, signalling for him to hold back.

Despite the hostility that was being directed at him in this moment, Sentinel remained calm and composed. He held out his hands in a show of pacifism, as if he were being unfairly victimized yet was all too ready to forgive his aggressor, should Sideswipe start to see reason and change his course of action. He carefully took a step forward, but Sideswipe would have none of it.

“ _Tell them!_ ” he demanded again, and took a step closer to reassert his dominance with his missile launcher. “Tell them the truth, Sentinel. About the virus… and what you did to my brother.” He glanced briefly towards Optimus Prime and for the first time since the last Great War, each recognized the other for who he truly was – a friend who, burdened by responsibilities that no mech should ever have to carry alone, had lost his way. “What you’re doing…” He forced himself to look away from Optimus and refocus upon Sentinel. “Tell them, Sentinel Prime, tell them the truth! Tell them who… _what_ … you really are. _No_ _more_ _lies!_ ”

Sentinel’s expression was filled with nothing but sympathy and concern for this obviously troubled and angry Autobot. Careful not to make any sudden moves, he spoke gently, reassuringly. “I understand your concern, Sideswipe. Please, put your weapon away. I can explain everything, if you’ll only give me a chance to help you.”

Sideswipe’s expression only hardened, his arms visibly shaking from his emotional exertion. “Help me? You want to help me – then tell me where my brother is!”

Before Sentinel could respond, Optimus interjected. “Don’t do this, Sideswipe. Please, you will only do yourself harm.”

Sideswipe refused to look at him, and he shook his head in defiance. “No! Can’t you see what’s happening? Don’t let him fool you!” He paused, and a moment of such strained silence followed that the background whisperings felt like an assault at full volume. “He’s a _traitor_!” he burst out suddenly, his voice resoundingly loud as it pierced the surrounding space.

Still Sentinel remained unperturbed, seemingly unaffected by Sideswipe’s accusations to the point that it appeared unnatural. He gave Optimus an assured nod, letting him know that he was more than capable of taking control of the situation. “I do not know what has happened to your brother… please.”

“Why should I believe anything you say?” Sideswipe’s face contorted into a vengeful smirk. “I should have listened to him. He tried to warn me about the Alliance. He tried to warn us all, but I didn’t listen… oh, no… I just let him _leave_!” Sideswipe shook his head, turning to Optimus, his weapon still locked on Sentinel. “And now? He’s probably dead, because of me! Because of _him_!” he continued, jabbing his launcher in the air towards Sentinel. He felt himself losing control, the anger and hurt he’d harboured deep inside for so long suddenly given full expression as he stood face to face with the very mech who had been responsible for all his suffering.

“Sideswipe?” a gentle voice called out from behind him, and he turned sharply around to face Arcee. “Don’t do this to yourself, please.”

But that split second of distracted focus was all Sentinel needed. Arcee’s shocked expression, one hand over her mouth, was the last thing Sideswipe’s optics registered before he dropped heavily to the floor – a well-aimed, powerful impact from Sentinel’s blaster knocking him offline.

* * *

“Well,” Comet said, holding the crude bomb in his hand and walking back to the doors. “If this doesn’t stop him, nothing will.” He looked for a suitable location to place the explosive, and finally secured it to an anchoring point in the wall only a couple of mechano-meters from the doors.

“Now what?” Sunstreaker asked, as Comet returned to face him.

“Now we wait,” the seeker replied, sitting back down on the ground.

Sunstreaker peered down at him. “What if… it doesn’t work?”

Comet shrugged. “You could always pray to Primus, and hope that we find some other way of escape.”

“Don’t get me wrong, Comet… but if I didn’t know you any better… I’d say that you’re not too concerned.” Sunstreaker slowly sat down on the floor across from him. “Oh, that’s right, I don’t know you. Do I?” But Comet did not answer him; he seemed lost in some distant, long forgotten memory. Or, perhaps he was avoiding the question; Sunstreaker didn’t know. “Alright. So, what’s your plan… if we do get out of here, you know? That is, if you _have_ a plan.”

Comet seemed to refocus his attention back to the real world. “Plan? Well, first, I’m going to take control of the Hitec base… and then, once I’ve done that, I’m going to use Scorponok’s army to take Alternity City. Then Cybertron won’t stand a chance against me,” he said wryly.

Sunstreaker observed him intently, unsure of the seeker’s intentions, but then chuckled light-heartedly at Comet’s satirical sense of humour. After a brief lull, he spoke again. “You know about Scorponok?”

“Only enough to know that he’s the biggest slag maker this side of the galaxy – along with everyone who works for him.” Comet leaned his head back and rested it against an empty drum that had been cut in half and then discarded. “So, Autobot, how did you end up here?” he asked after a long moment. When Sunstreaker did not respond straight away, he added, “If I were to fathom a guess I’d say that you’ve had an unfortunate encounter with the slag maker himself.”

Sunstreaker recalled the painful moments of his capture and subsequent torture and humiliation at the hands of Hitec’s High Commander. “It was my stupid fault. I’d tracked a group of Neutrals to a nearby relay station… and that’s where I found…” He faltered, finding it difficult to continue.

Comet slowly raised his head, intense red optics watching him. “You found what?”

Sunstreaker looked downcast, his expression sorrowful. “I was going to get a closer look, but… I didn’t see Sentinel’s goons behind me.”

“What did you _see_ , Sunstreaker?”

For the first time since they’d met Comet had used his full name, and the Autobot tilted his head up briefly to look at the seeker in unspoken encouragement.

However, the memory of what he’d discovered inside the relay station was anything but encouraging, and he found it too difficult, too painful even, to put it all into coherent words. Still, he tried. “Autobots… what was left of ‘em, anyway. Deactivated. Dead.” He sat there, quietly staring down at his hands, exerting a force of will to keep them from shaking. His anger at what he’d seen threatened to erupt in a sudden, uncontrolled outburst at any moment.

Comet looked away for a brief instant, contemplating what Sunstreaker had just shared with him. “You said that Sentinel Prime has something to do with all of that?” he asked.

The yellow Autobot nodded grimly. “I wasn’t certain before.” He inhaled deeply, tried to regain his composure. “But now I know for sure. He helped create the Plague, and possibly even–” He paused, thinking about how to word his next sentence. “He may have even played a part in bringing about our own war.” Sunstreaker indicated the two of them with a wave of his hand as he explained. “The war between us – Autobots… and Decepticons.”

Comet listened carefully, his expression fixed, unchanging. It was his turn then to speak his truth, to allow himself to acknowledge his own anger and disappointment – sentiments that had held his own conscience hostage since the day he had been banished from Cybertron. “The Autobots blamed that virus… on a Decepticon.” Comet stood up, feeling uneasy, and turned away from the Autobot. “One of us.” But rather than accuse him or judge him, he sensed that Sunstreaker wanted to empathise with him, understand his plight, and he was thankful for that.

“I remember. He was sentenced to death, wasn’t he?”

“Yes.” There was confusion underlying Comet’s voice, though he managed to direct any bitterness away from his present company. For reasons that he didn’t fully comprehend he welcomed this conversation, finding comfort and reassurance in a most unlikely source – an Autobot. “I…”

Sunstreaker sensed the seeker’s difficulty and genuinely wanted to help him. “Listen, Comet… I think we ought to stick together. Help each other out, you know? Once we get out of here.” Comet did not respond, so he continued. “If I help you conquer Alternity City… well, maybe you’ll help me find a way to return to Cybertron, so I can warn the others.”

Comet turned back around to face him, his arms crossed in front of him. “You mean, _if_ we get out of here, and _if_ I’m willing to tolerate the company of one arrogant, self-important Autobot such as yourself?” he said, though with a hint of a smile.

Sunstreaker shrugged. “Hey, if I’m willing to put up with one overbearing, conceited, overconfident, cocky _Decepticon_ such as yourself, then you could at least try to do the same for me.”

Comet laughed. It was a spontaneous and care-free reaction that meant much more to him than he’d ever let on. “We’ll see,” he conceded.

* * *

“The _Neutrals_!?” Chromia exclaimed in exasperation, looking towards her team leader. “Elita?”

As the penny dropped, the pink and white femme paused in deliberation. Her voice lowered considerably in volume. “I should have known. I should have seen it. This whole time, I can’t believe it.”

“So… what, exactly, are we talking about here?” Moonracer asked, confused. “You should have seen _what,_ Elita?”

“Shutup, ‘Racer,” Firestar rebuked, as they all waited for the femme commander to say something more. Devcon remained silent, watching them, allowing them the space they needed to arrive at their own conclusions.

“The rumours from this Sector, the Autobot disappearances soon after the sudden end to the war at home, especially at a time when the Decepticons were far from being defeated…” Elita rose from her chair and began to slowly pace in thought. “The Cybertronian High Council’s increase in power soon after the formation of the Alliance…” She turned back to face her crew. “Think about it. Why would the Neutrals attack our ship? We’re supposed to be their allies.”

Chromia interjected. “That’s _if_ it was the Neutrals. We can’t be sure. I mean, how do we know it wasn’t the Supremacists – as Devcon mentioned – or someone else entirely?”

“Such as?” Elita rebutted, and then walked back to her seat, looking Chromia straight in the optics. “Okay, just humor me for one astro-second – let’s just say that it _was_ them. It _would_ explain why the Neutrals formed an Alliance with the Autobots, and why the Council then gave them power to act on their behalf. Power that _could_ be used to gain control, especially with the added numbers and combined resources to pull it off… and what about their directive to capture all Decepticons – _why_?”

“Elita – listen to yourself. It all just sounds crazy!” Chromia replied, shocked that her friend was actually entertaining the impossible.

“I know.” Elita sighed. “And maybe… maybe that’s what they’re relying on.”

Firestar spoke next. “But it still doesn’t explain why they attacked our ship. Or why Autobots are being targeted.”

Elita nodded. “True, and that’s exactly what I intend to find out.” She looked back at Devcon. “We’d appreciate any help, Devcon, and if there’s any truth to what I’m saying, then that attack on our cruiser is only a small hint of something much bigger that any of us realize.”

Devcon contemplated her words carefully and then gave her a small nod. “I’ve got no plans to return to Cybertron any time soon… but next time you’re in need of a space cruiser, just let me know.”

Elita relaxed a little, releasing some built-up tension in her shoulders. “Thank you,” she said, smiling appreciatively.

* * *

When Jazz had arrived at Darkmount’s central co-ordinates, he’d been surprised to find that the ruins of the former fortress no longer existed; instead a large, spired tower was all that stood in their place. He had transmitted the encoded distress signal that Drift had given him several hours ago, and had remained parked not too far from the main road in his alt mode, watching and waiting for something to happen.

But nothing did. He’d watched as a couple of Neutrals scanned the area from a safe distance and then left, but other than that there had been nothing to indicate the presence of any Decepticons, let alone that they’d picked up his signal, or even knew he was there.

As he waited with waning expectations, he entertained several scenarios in his mind as he mentally dealt with all the possible outcomes of his current course of action. He considered the most likely event that the Decepticons would capture him, and whilst he doubted that they would terminate him on sight, that possibility always remained active in the back of his mind. With some effort he pushed the thought away, and then reaffirmed his resolve; this was an all-or-nothing deal, and he realized that it would be easier for him to fully dedicate himself to his current objective for all it was worth rather than try to look for alternatives. Any reservations that he felt he would just have to ignore.

As the fading daylight gradually gave way to the blanketing darkness of the night cycle, Jazz had the distinct sense that he was being watched. His scanners did not reveal any obvious presence, though he had learned long ago not to rely solely upon his external sensors and he remained alert, ever-watchful, and then his patience finally paid off.

There, perched atop the spire, Jazz could make out a small, robotic shape that resembled a bird of one of the many organic alien species known to exist. Laserbeak, Jazz identified with both relief and trepidation at the same time.

He was not certain how long the Cassetticon spy had been watching him, nor whether Laserbeak had appeared in response to the signal he’d sent out, but what he was certain of was that he had come to the right place; wherever there was Laserbeak, there’d be other Decepticons as well – however many of them there were. Several minutes went by, as each continued to watch the other, neither of them moving. Then Jazz took action. He transformed into robot mode and began to unhurriedly walk towards the tower. He tried to appear non-threatening; his movements were deliberate, and he did not retrieve his weapon. Keeping his sights on Laserbeak, he watched the mini-spy intently, hoping that he wouldn’t fly away and disappear before he’d had a chance to give him a message.

Laserbeak suddenly lifted himself up into the air and hovered near the top of the spire. Projecting his telescopic viewer from the top of his head, most likely to get a close-up look at the Autobot, he then swooped down and landed on top of the tower.

Jazz did not slow down until he was only a few mechano-meters away from the structure. Then he stopped and peered up at the Decepticon, half expecting to be fired upon at any moment. “It’s just me here,” Jazz called out, his voice resonating weakly throughout the vast, desolate expanse around them, and then paused to watch the mechanical bird’s reaction. “Tell Megatron we need to talk.”

He watched as Laserbeak received his message and, once it had become clear that the Autobot did not have anything further to say, the Cassetticon lifted off into the air once more. Then, with a high-pitched screech, he doubled back and disappeared behind the tower.

* 

More time passed, but Jazz remained where he was. He was sure that any moment now he would come face to face with one or more members of the Autobots’ declared enemy, and he might have to utilize all his skills and knowledge if he was going to pull this off successfully. As it turned out, however, his initial encounter with a Decepticon did not quite happen face to face.

He heard the familiar sound of a weapon being readied from somewhere behind him, and he knew that the moment he’d been waiting for had finally arrived. Without turning around, he slowly raised his hands in the air.

“Why are you here, Jazz?” a mech said from behind him.

Jazz instantly recognised the voice; it belonged to the leader of the Constructicons. He thought carefully before responding; an honest, direct approach would be his best option. “I just want to talk.” A long moment went by in silence, and then he added, “I’m alone.”

“Turn around, _slowly_.”

Jazz immediately did so. His blue optics met the red visor of the green and purplish-magenta Decepticon, his own visor retracted in an open and non-threatening gesture.

Scrapper slowly lowered his weapon, but kept his gaze fixed upon the Autobot. “How did you know about that frequency?”

It took Jazz a few seconds to realize what Scrapper was referring to. “Drift gave it to me.” When he realized that the Autobot’s name might not mean anything to him, he clarified. “Ah, you might have known him as Deadlock.”

The Constructicon did not react at the mention of either name, but instead changed topic. “Megatron’s agreed to meet with you.” A slight pause, and he lowered his voice a little. “We told him about… what you did for us.”

Jazz nodded in understanding. He knew, instinctively, that his request for a meeting would never have been granted so readily had he not risked his own life to save Scavenger, and he was thankful for the opportunity.

But it could still all too easily come to naught, if the Decepticons suspected even the slightest hint of trickery; this was the first thought that came to Jazz’s mind when he heard the sound of screeching tyres rapidly approaching their position from the main road in the distance. Jazz grimaced, watched as Scrapper raised his weapon again then turned his head towards the source of the noise.

A lone car, probably an Autobot, was heading straight for them at top speed, though his form was mostly obscured by darkness. This could not have been happening at a worse moment. “I don’t know anything about it, I swear,” Jazz said in alarm, hoping beyond reason that Scrapper would believe him. “I might have been followed,” he added quickly, though he was pretty sure that he hadn’t been. Scrapper ignored him and instead stood his ground, watching the approaching car.

As the mech came into view, he transformed into robot mode and immediately brandished his photon pistol at Scrapper. “That’s what you get for trying to help these scum bags. Isn’t that right, Jazz?” he called out after several tense moments.

Jazz shook his head in disbelief. “This isn’t what it looks like,” he informed Streetwise, who responded by making a dismissive gesture, and he could tell that the Protectobot was angry, ready to explode at any moment. “You really shouldn’t have come here.”

Streetwise ignored him; all that seemed to matter to him now was exacting his revenge for the brutal attack of his team mate, beginning with the Decepticon standing in front of him. Charging up his photon pistol, he brought it level to Scrapper’s spark chamber, completely disregarding the fact that Scrapper’s own weapon was still trained on Jazz.

“Streetwise, put your weapon away,” Jazz told him, as calmly as he could, but he was ignored yet again. “That’s an order, Streetwise.”

Streetwise shook his head incredulously. “I don’t take orders from a traitor!”

Jazz’s voice became firmer, his tone darker. “I outrank you, or have you conveniently forgotten that fact?” Weighing his options, Jazz knew that Streetwise was a highly intelligent and capable tracker, but he also knew that he could be easily played when his emotions got the better of him, as was evident now. He took a few steps forward, drawing his own weapon and hoping that Streetwise would take the bait.

Streetwise did, indeed, react, but not quite in the way Jazz had hoped. The Protectobot immediately fired a couple of shots at Scrapper, hitting the Constructicon in the chest. Barely a micro second later and he had his pistol aimed squarely at Jazz, before he fired off another two shots.

Jazz did not have enough time to pre-empt his move. He felt the force of the blasts impact his midsection, and he fell to the ground, his blaster knocked out of his hand. Scrapper stumbled backwards but did not fall; the hits he had taken had not been sufficient to disable him and so, without hesitation, he fired back at his attacker.

Like a mad mech, Streetwise cried out in rage and began to charge toward the Constructicon with all the fervor he could spare, spurred on by pure hatred and revenge. He tackled Scrapper to the ground, and the two of them were locked in a battle of brute strength as each fought to overpower the other.

Watching the scene unfold before him, Jazz reached across for his blaster. Several other Constructicons appeared from somewhere near the tower and rushed forwards ready to help their team leader, blasters at the ready. They stopped when they saw Jazz on the ground nearby, and for several moments were unsure of what to do.

Without waiting a second longer, Jazz set his weapon to maximum stun, then carefully aimed it at the enraged Protectobot and fired.

* * *

Dirge regarded his team of flyers with a feeling of disquiet and wondered whether Astrotrain had abandoned them all, or had simply forgotten that he was supposed to have met them here several hours ago. He had been directed to make minimal contact with the triple changer on his com link, and only under the direst of circumstances – and for the moment their circumstances, although uncertain, were not dire.

Thrust got up from his seat on a bench and walked over to his team leader. “That glorified space train’s forgotten all about us. What are we going to do now?” They had arrived in Binaltech right on schedule, but it had soon become apparent that Astrotrain was a no-show, and so the five of them had taken shelter inside a busy information exchange hub, where they would be able to lie low and hide amongst the crowd – at least for the time being, provided that they hadn’t been followed.

Dirge gave him an annoyed look. “Something might’ve happened. We don’t know for sure. All we can do now is wait.”

“Fine,” Thrust grumbled in frustration, but then ambled back to the other three jets in resignation.

The blue and black team leader continued to peer out into the Binaltech crowd, watching the horde of city denizens coming and going, and then stiffened slightly as he caught sight of a solitary figure moving steadily towards them. He magnified his optical sensors to get a better look at the form; a smaller framed, yellow and purple Cybertronian femme. He decided that she would pose no threat to them unless, of course, she was not here by herself, but Dirge did not see anyone else with her. He remained where he was, watching with detached interest as she strode right up to him. His team mates all rose from their seats and moved to stand beside him.

“Well, well, isn’t this a pleasant surprise?” she greeted them, putting on a show of affection and admiration. “What brings you boys to Binaltech, hm?” Grabbing Dirge’s arm, she pulled herself closer to him.

Dirge tried to pull his arm back, but she clung to him. “Do I know you?” he asked, peering suspiciously down at her.

The femme laughed playfully. “Not nearly as much as you should.” Her expression became solemn as she noted his disapproval, and she distanced herself slightly. “Okay, how about we start over? I’ll introduce myself to you, and then you can all tell me who you are. How’s that sound?” she offered. When none of them answered she continued, grinning. “Great. I’m the femme of your dreams… but you can call me Thunderblast,” she said whimsically, then pointed at Dirge. “Oh, let me guess. You’re the leader, right? Dirge?”

He glanced uncomfortably over at Ramjet and Thrust, who stood to his left, before looking back at her. “How’d you know my name?” he replied sternly, crossing his arms in front of him.

But Thunderblast simply smiled at him admiringly, and then moved closer to Thrust, lightly caressing his arm with her finger. “And you, you look like _my_ kind of mech. Strong, smart – oh, I know you! Why, _you’re_ …” She left the sentence hanging, and the red jet took the bait.

“I’m Thrust,” he stated, and she smiled.

“Thrust! Of course. That’s a great name. Really suits you!”

Dirge interjected her fun before she could get any further information out of his team. “Look, _Thunderblast_ , I don’t know what you’re after exactly, but you should really be running along.”

The femme gave him an insolent, almost hurtful, look. “Well, if that’s what you really want, then fine, I’ll leave.” She turned to go but then stopped short, making a gesture as if to indicate that she’d almost forgotten something really important. “Oh, by the way, I spoke to your friend just the other day. I’ll let him know you said ‘hi’.” This time Dirge stopped her as she started to walk away again.

“Wait.” He rushed forwards and caught her by the arm, then roughly spun her around. “What do you mean? What friend?” he demanded. She pouted, looked away, and he snarled. “Come on, don’t play games. Who did you speak to?”

Thunderblast made a weak attempt to break free of his grasp, but it was all just part of her act; she was playing with his emotional response and he was buying right into it. Loser, she thought. “Alright, I’ll tell you. If you let me go.” Dirge released her and watched as she rubbed her arm. Then she looked up at him with the most sincere expression she could manage. “Something’s happened to Comet – I think he might be in some kind of trouble.” She smiled teasingly. “But you knew he was here, right?”

“Comet?” He frowned. “We don’t know any Comet. And I’m getting really tired of your–”

She looked at him quizzically, her yellow optics narrowing. “You mean to tell me you don’t know _Comet_? He’s a Decepticon seeker – one of you guys!” She wiggled a finger towards Bitstream and Acid Storm. “Well, more like one of _them_! Except maybe a little taller, a little more – I dunno, handsome?” The two seekers behind Dirge gave her disparaging looks, but she ignored them. “Look, I’m telling you the truth. But don’t believe me if you don’t want to – that’s your business.”

Dirge scanned the immediate vicinity to ensure they were still alone. They were. “How’d you know about us?” he asked, changing the topic.

Thunderblast offered them an elusive smile. “Let’s just say I’ve had my optics on all of you – for a little while.”

He leaned threateningly closer. “Yeah? _Why_?” he demanded, drawing out the last word in emphasis.

She huffed at him impatiently. “ _Because_ – can’t a femme admire a group of striking Decepticon jets from a distance? Besides, it’s what I’m good at.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. The only thing you’re good at is being a pain in the afterburner.”

“Oh, you have _no_ idea!” Giggling, she checked her internal chronometer. “Oh, would you look at the time – I’ve gotta run. It was really nice meeting you guys!” She smiled mischievously, then gave them a wave before turning to leave.

Dirge watched her go, her small, nimble frame quickly disappearing into the crowd, before he turned back to his team mates. “Who the frag’s Comet?” he asked them.

“No idea,” Thrust replied as the others shrugged or shook their heads, clueless.

* * *

As the Cybertronian, all-femme crew re-entered the busy communications hub, Moonracer grabbed Elita’s arm and pointed. “Look! Isn’t that…” She faltered, trying to recall a name, but then gave up. “I _know_ her from somewhere.”

Elita One stopped to track the femme in the crowd, and then looked across at Chromia, who nodded.

“That’s Thunderblast,” Chromia said wryly. “Now what could she possibly be doing here, I wonder?”

Elita gave her a knowing look. “That femme’s nothing but trouble. We’d do well to stay away from her prying optics.”

“You can say that again,” Firestar replied, glancing towards a group of mechs in the distance, though a clear view of them was obstructed by the crowd. “Looks like she has her hooks into those mechs – check it out.”

The other three followed her gaze, straining for a closer look. They could make out Thunderblast’s smaller frame waving a quick goodbye to the jets before turning and walking away from them. “They’re not just any mechs, Firestar. They’re Decepticon jets,” Elita informed her. “Come on, let’s go talk to them.” She began to head towards them, but Chromia stopped her.

“Elita! What are you doing?” Chromia questioned her, startled. “Look, I know that you want to find out what’s going on – we all do – but do you really think it’s wise to let _them_ know we’re here?” she explained, gesturing toward the five jets who were now talking amongst themselves.

The femme commander backed down, respecting her friend’s counsel. “I suppose you’re right. I just… how did we ever let this all happen, Chrome? How did any of us let this happen?”

The blue femme looked into her friend’s optics and saw the all-too-familiar zeal that had attracted Optimus to her in the first place. “’We’?” She paused, concerned, unsure of what Elita was trying to convey. But then she understood. “Elita, if what you said is true… it isn’t our fault. None of it is _our_ fault.” The compassion in her voice resonated strongly. “We couldn’t have known.”

Elita took one last look at the Decepticons in the distance. “Come on, we’re going to need some credits,” she said, before turning and walking away.

* * *

Jazz hoped that Streetwise’s little show of vengeance had not caused too much damage, as he looked down at the unconscious mech lying face down on the floor beside him. The two of them were alone inside a small, empty room, behind energy bars. A sealed door was set into the wall opposite.

He had checked the Protectobot’s vital signs a short while ago, and was satisfied that he was in a non-critical state. He had aimed and fired his weapon with the sole intention of stopping Streetwise’s assault of the Constructicon and it had worked, but he had no recollection of what had occurred afterwards, or how the both of them had ended up in this holding cell.

The Protectobot stirred awake, and after several seconds pushed himself up with his hands, staggered to a standing position. He quickly noted the energy bars, and then spun around to face Jazz. “Where the frag are we?” he asked in anger.

Jazz did not return his gaze, instead turned his head towards the sealed door across the room. “Inside a Decepticon holding cell, most likely.” His voice was calm, yet there was a calculated impassiveness to it that Streetwise didn’t like.

“Hey, what the hell were you thinking… helping them out the way you did? Have you forgotten what side you’re supposed to be on?” Streetwise confronted Jazz, raising his voice at him. “Those fraggers are going to pay for what they’re doing – every last one of them!”

“They can probably hear you, you know,” Jazz said, ignoring the other’s ire.

“Good. Then I hope they hear this.” Streetwise turned away from him and spoke through the energy bars into the empty room. “You’re all a bunch of slaggin’ cowards! You hear me, Decepti-creeps?! Your time’s up!” But all that he got in return was silence. “Let me the frag out of here!” Streetwise kicked at the energy bars, and felt the shock from the plasma as it kicked back at him, surging through his systems.

“Give it a rest, Streetwise. It’s not going to get you anywhere,” Jazz told him, and then added, “You shouldn’t have followed me here.”

“Hey, for the record, I didn’t follow you here,” Streetwise answered. “And as far as I can tell, Jazz… you’re no better than they are, so don’t try to tell me what I should or shouldn’t do.”

Jazz didn’t bother arguing with him. The Protectobot was obviously angry and unreasonable, and nothing would be gained from trying to explain to him the truth of the matter, particularly when he wasn’t listening.

The next half hour was spent in silence. Jazz used the time to try to figure out his options from this point forward, and how he was going to diffuse the situation with Streetwise. Meanwhile, the Protectobot did his best to ignore him, and Jazz was quite content to let him be.

When the door finally opened and three Constructicons entered the room, Jazz immediately recognised them; Bonecrusher, Scrapper, and Scavenger – the one whose life he’d saved, and probably the reason that Streetwise had come here in the first place.

The three of them came to stand in front of the energy bars, Scrapper at the fore, all with their blasters at the ready. Streetwise snarled at them. “Let me out of here, you slaggers _,_ or you’re all going to regret the day you were ever created!” he threatened.

Scrapper ignored him, his gaze resting upon Jazz instead. The energy bars disappeared, and Scrapper motioned with his blaster for him to step forwards and out of the small cell. “Come with us,” he said.

Jazz did as he was told. As Streetwise watched, his fuel pump churned in agitation, and all he could think about was what had happened to Groove. “You pieces of scrap!” he cried out, and tried to push his way past the three Decepticons, desperate to escape the holding cell. However, his attempt at forcing his way free failed; he was pushed roughly back into the wall behind him, the energy bars reactivating before he could charge forwards again.

Streetwise watched Jazz being led out of the room by the Constructicons, and then the door closed again, leaving him alone in the holding cell.


	11. Chapter 11

Jazz was led down two levels by the three Constructicons, then along a wide, craggy passageway until they all came to a stop at a large room. A small group of Decepticons were seated around a table. He immediately recognized the three other Constructicons, as well as their communications expert, Soundwave and, directly across from the entrance where he stood, the leader of the Decepticons himself. Scrapper and his two companions took their seats, and then all optics were fixed on him.

He remained motionless as he surveyed the small gathering with a characteristic collectedness. The moment that he had been waiting for had finally arrived; his opportunity to learn more about the Decepticons’ true motives was here, and he had no intention of blowing it.

Megatron was the first to speak, breaking the silence that had settled around the room. “My Constructicons have told me what you did for them. I suppose you expect us to return the favour?”

That’s when Jazz realized how his request to speak with him must have looked. “Return the favour?” he repeated quietly. “Oh, no, I didn’t come here for any favour,” he replied, making sure that he came across non-threatening. There was a pause, and Jazz continued tentatively. “I, uh… want to apologise for Streetwise. I had no idea he was going to show up.”

Megatron made no comment regarding his apology; instead, he gestured with a hand towards an empty seat. Jazz took the seat offered, and then Megatron spoke again. “Did Prime send you?”

“He doesn’t know I’m here,” Jazz replied.

“Hm.” Megatron leaned back in his chair, observing the black and white Autobot with interest. “Then, why did you come here?”

Jazz inhaled deeply. “A couple of reasons. But mostly to try to learn the truth about everything that’s been going on.” He turned to observe the Constructicons, and his gaze rested upon Scavenger. “I was also kinda hoping that I might be allowed to ask Scavenger about what happened the night Groove was attacked.”

No one moved or spoke a word. Megatron leaned forward slightly, his expression apprehensive and doubtful. “Scavenger was not responsible for that Autobot’s misfortune – there is nothing further to be said on the matter,” he said determinedly. “As I have already told Prime; there will be no exchange, and no further negotiations.”

Jazz had no idea why Megatron had mentioned Prime, nor what he had meant by exchange, but that wasn’t urgent. He did not want to create any misunderstandings between them. “I didn’t come here to accuse Scavenger. In fact, I think he’s innocent,” he answered with a determination of his own, looking resolutely back at the Decepticon leader. His words seemed to have the desired effect on all in the room. Sensing their surprise he continued speaking, albeit in a softer tone. “Look, all I’m asking is that you just hear me out.”

Megatron considered his request, and after a few moments made his decision. “Very well,” he said simply, and gestured for Jazz to continue.

The Autobot First Lieutenant gave him a small nod in gratitude, and then turned his attention back to Scavenger. “When it was just you and me in that holding cell, you told me you didn’t do it… and I believe you.” He paused, watching the Constructicon closely, who remained unresponsive. “But you also told me that you didn’t see what happened.” Jazz slowly shook his head. “I think you did. I think you know who attacked Groove that night.” Before anyone could jump to Scavenger’s defence, Jazz raised a hand. “Now, I can understand why you didn’t want to say anything then and, like I said, I just want to know what happened. I didn’t come here to accuse you. But, if I’m right… well, it changes things.” He paused and glanced back at Megatron, whose expression was impassive. “According to the official report, Scavenger was the only one in the area that night, other than the Autobots who later found Groove, of course, and it got me thinking – if Scavenger’s innocent, like he says… and, let’s say that an Autobot wasn’t responsible either, then that leaves only one other possibility.” Jazz looked back towards Scavenger, as the other Decepticons in the room waited expectantly to hear what he had to say. “Scavenger, I know you don’t have to tell me anything. But I’m asking for your help, and I need you to know that this isn’t just about Groove – this affects everyone, including the Decepticons.” For the first time since Jazz had arrived in Darkmount, Scavenger met his gaze, though the Constructicon’s visor and face mask hid his expression. Then he slowly looked away again, casting his optics down at the table and saying nothing. “I also want you to know that everything I told you in that holding cell is true.” A long moment passed in silence, as Jazz allowed him time to think over his request. “That night… you witnessed a Neutral attack Groove, didn’t you?”

Scavenger lifted his head to glance across at Scrapper sitting beside him, who gave him a reassuring nod, before he focused his attention upon Jazz once more. Then, finally, he spoke. “No, not one.” His voice sounded surprisingly self-assured, yet also carried an undertone of vulnerability. “ _Three_.”

* * *

The soft background hum of life support systems and the muted, overhead security lighting were the first things that Sideswipe became aware of when he regained consciousness, and immediately he knew that he was in Iacon Central’s repair bay and that it was the recharge cycle. Almost immediately the memory of his confrontation with Sentinel assaulted his processor and he groaned, inhaled deeply to try to clear his confusion. His mind felt sluggish – as if he had spent the previous evening overcharging at the _Bar Magna_ – but he knew that that was not the reason for his unplanned stay in the med bay. His recollection of the event was clear enough; Sentinel had shot him in the back when he wasn’t looking. Bastard. He really needed to be more careful and keep his temper under control, if he wanted to avoid a similar episode in future.

He started to sit up from his berth, and discovered that he was hooked up to some cables that were connected to a monitor off to his left. Wrapping his right hand around the cables, he gave them a quick, sharp yank. They disconnected easily. Sitting up, he looked around the med bay and noticed that, save for Groove’s motionless frame nearby, he was alone. Sliding off the berth, he reached out a hand to steady himself as his feet touched the floor. Then he took a few steps forward and almost collapsed, though he pushed past the momentary setback as he internally reset his equilibrium circuit until he was steady on his feet again. He reached the med bay doors and looked out into the hallway, first in one direction and then the other. It was quiet, empty. He sensed that something was amiss, but then pushed that thought out of his mind before starting down the hall towards the control center.

Glancing behind him, he did not pay attention to where he was going and collided into something as he turned the corner. It was a large mech, much larger than him.

Before he had the chance to learn the mech’s identity, he found himself being shoved forcefully against the wall, a pair of strong hands pinning his shoulders. A menacing, twisted scowl appeared on the mech’s face, only mere inches away from his own.

It was Sentinel Prime. “Ah, Sideswipe.” The voice was cold, deliberate, and soft as a whisper that belied its venom. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. That little stunt you pulled. I really should have your head for that.” Sideswipe remained frozen in shock, too afraid to utter a solitary word, yet unable to take his optics off the leader of the Neutrals. “Well, do you have anything to say for yourself? You sorry excuse for an Autobot!” His voice had turned harsh, grating, yet Sentinel maintained total control.

Sideswipe visibly stiffened, wanting to back away, though the wall behind him prevented him from doing so. He was filled with loathing and bitterness for the mech, yet he remained silent, refusing to speak.

“Whilst it would be much easier and, dare I say, _far_ more pleasurable for me to simply have you terminated,” Sentinel continued, “I’m not going to do that. Instead, I’m going to give you a chance to redeem yourself.” He paused, watching for Sideswipe’s reaction.

The red and black Autobot stared back at him, this time in desperation and uncertainty, his processor scrambling to grasp Sentinel’s motives, but the more he did so the worse the imagined possibilities became. He tried hard to focus on regulating his air intake in a vain attempt to mask his fear; nevertheless Sentinel was able to see through his weak veneer no matter what he did. “Why should I do anything you say?” he barely managed to vocalize, yet he felt compelled to confront the truth of his situation. He was tired of watching and waiting, heartbroken at having allowed those he cared for the most to continue to suffer the consequences of his actions – or non-actions, as the case may be.

Sentinel snarled at him, pushed him harder against the wall. “ _Why_? _Why_? Because if you don’t do as I tell you, you will never see your brother again!” he hissed, embodying pure malice and a depraved satisfaction from knowing that he had the upper hand – that as long as he could play this particular card he would have Sideswipe completely under his control.

Sideswipe’s frustration and resentment threatened to surface once more, and he tried to throw Sentinel off him, but the mech was too strong. He had to fight with every ounce of strength within him to speak in a steady voice. “So, you know where he is?”

Sentinel backed off a little bit. “Yes.”

The Autobot’s expression hardened, his entire frame beginning to tremble from raw emotion as he fought to stay in control. “He’s still alive?” His voice was barely a whisper.

Sentinel seemed to gain a certain satisfaction from Sideswipe’s vulnerability, and he played it now for all it was worth. He released his hold on the mech, took a step back and then slowly smiled at him. “Oh, _yes_ … your brother is still alive. Though, he won’t be for too much longer.” Sideswipe’s features revealed his pain and sorrow; the thought of losing his brother a second time was simply too much for the Autobot to bear. “Oh, but don’t worry. Do _exactly_ as I tell you, and you _will_ see him again, I promise you.”

The loathing and need for vengeance that he had felt towards Sentinel only moments ago was quickly replaced by fear for his brother’s life, but also by a faint glimmer of hope that he may, after all these years, finally get the chance to be reunited with him again. And _that_ , against all the odds, was all that mattered. His head slowly nodded in acquiescence; his utter humiliation and sense of betrayal would not fully register upon his conscience until later. “What do I have to do?”

* * *

Scavenger’s admission left Jazz near speechless. If Groove had been attacked by only one Neutral who had acted on his own, that would have been one thing – but to have _three_ of them gang up on the victim with the deliberate purpose of destroying him – not only was that downright disconcerting, but it also hinted towards a far more widespread corruption within the Neutral ranks than he had previously considered possible. How far up the hierarchy did it actually go? Was Sentinel Prime, the leader of the Neutrals, even aware of the corruption… and, if so, possibly even involved somehow? It also explained why the High Council, which had allied itself with the Neutrals, would have wanted Scavenger terminated as quickly as possible – it had been an effort to silence him before he could have exposed the truth about what had happened.

It also pointed to the ever-increasing likelihood that many of the Decepticons were actually innocent of the crimes that they had long been accused of. More than ever before, Jazz was able to fit more pieces of the puzzle together, to see with greater clarity the reality of what might really be going on – not only with what had happened to Groove, but with many preceding incidents as well. He was becoming increasingly suspicious of the Neutrals, and he was more certain with each passing moment that the possibility of a corrupt Alliance would change everything.

He was still in a quiet state of shock and disbelief when Scavenger spoke again.

“I saw them attack the Autobot. The things they did to him, it was…” Scavenger faltered, recalling the memory of that unpleasant night.

“Did Groove provoke them in any way?” Jazz asked, finding his voice again. He already knew the answer to his question, but wanted Scavenger to confirm it for him.

The Constructicon shook his head. “No. They approached _him_. Then they started to mock him.” All optics in the room came to rest upon him, including Megatron’s.

Jazz nodded in acknowledgment. “What happened next?”

Scavenger looked down at his hands, turning them over repeatedly in a gesture that Jazz could only construe as nervousness. “I watched them drag him away. I wanted to know where they’d taken him, so I followed their trail. That’s when I found Groove lying next to a tunnel entrance close by, but those Neutrals were long gone.”

Jazz paused in thought, watching Scavenger intently. “He was violently attacked. Had several parts removed, including a vital component. Unfortunately, he’s not going to live much longer without it. But what I still don’t get is _why_.”

“Yeah, that’s the first thing I–” Scavenger began and then stopped suddenly, frozen as if he had just seen the ominous Spark of the Chaos Bringer first-hand. Then his hands slowly moved apart, and he shifted uneasily in his chair.

“What is it?” Jazz prompted, his voice calm and reassuring. “Scavenger, is there something else you saw?”

Slowly, Scavenger rose from his chair and, very carefully and deliberately, retrieved something from a compartment in his forearm. He glanced at his team mates, and then briefly at Megatron before he tentatively made his way around the table to approach Jazz. He stopped short a few feet behind the Autobot head of special operations, who turned around in his chair to face him.

At first, Jazz had no idea what the Decepticon’s intentions were, nor what he was holding in his hand. He waited for Scavenger to say or do something more, but when he didn’t Jazz rose from his seat to stand in front of him. As he did so, Scavenger slowly opened his hand to reveal a small object, extending his arm out towards him.

It was at that moment that Jazz realized what it was. He reached out gently to pick up the object, and then carefully held it up to examine it. “Groove’s missing systems link. I don’t believe it.” Before he had time to think about what this could mean Scavenger spoke again, dropping his arm back down to rest by his side.

“I picked it up on the pavement where Groove was attacked.” He paused, watching Jazz’s reaction; he wasn’t sure how the Autobot would take this news. “But then I forgot I had it.”

Jazz looked away from the component and back towards Scavenger, trying to make sense of what the Constructicon had just confessed to him. “I’ve got to get this back to Iacon as soon as possible,” he said, his tone unmistakeably urgent, almost desperate. His thoughts raced as he realized that Groove’s best chance for survival henceforth rested upon his actions alone. He could take the component back himself, though he’d rather avoid returning to a place where he knew he’d be no longer welcome – not when there was another, better way. _Streetwise._

He turned towards Megatron, who had been watching the entire exchange with reserved interest. “I know you don’t owe me anything, and I wouldn’t be asking you if it wasn’t to save Groove’s life. But, please let Streetwise go free,” Jazz explained. When Megatron did not respond straight away, he became increasingly distressed. “You’ve got to believe me. Please, I’ll do anything you want – just don’t let Groove die, please–”

Megatron had heard enough. He stood and held up a hand as an indication for Jazz to stop. “You do not need to plead for the Autobot’s life. You have already proven your word, and your worth.” He shook his head in a show of perplexity. “You are an Autobot, yet you do not behave like the others. If it weren’t for your actions, even at the risk to your own life, Scavenger would have been terminated. For that, we are in your debt.” Then he turned to the Constructicon leader. “Scrapper, take the component to the prisoner and then release him.” Scrapper nodded in acknowledgment, and Megatron turned back to face Jazz. “You are free to go as well,” he said finally, and started to leave the room, but Jazz stopped him.

“Wait–” The Decepticon leader halted, waiting for Jazz to continue. “I know how this is going to sound, but I can’t go back to Iacon – at least not until Prime has learned the truth.” Pausing, he inhaled slowly. “What I’m trying to say is…” He faltered, trying to find the right words, but then Scrapper rose from his chair and walked around the table to stand by his side.

“Megatron, I think what Jazz here is trying to say is that he’d like to stay with us and help expose the Alliance, not just for the Autobots’ sake, but for ours as well.” Jazz glanced at the Constructicon leader in quiet astonishment and thankfulness; yes, that was exactly what he wanted. “That is, if you’ll allow him,” Scrapper added.

Megatron considered his words for a moment. “The Alliance… yes. What do you know about it?” he asked Jazz.

“Just that a lot of things about it don’t make sense,” Jazz replied, as he recalled to memory everything that he had seen and heard since his mission to XR-5’s Mining Station. “Unless, of course, it isn’t exactly the friendly, benign outfit most bots seem to think it is.”

Megatron took a step closer towards him, holding his gaze steady. “Tell me, what is your area of specialty?”

“Special operations, mainly – though, I’m flexible.”

“Hm. I see.” The black and silver mech paused, evaluating him. “But you are also one of Prime’s confidants, are you not?”

“You could say that,” Jazz replied, unperturbed by the Decepticon leader’s line of questioning. “Though, we haven’t exactly been seeing things optic to optic lately.”

Megatron walked over to stand behind Soundwave, as he pondered his next question. “Yet you are willing to turn your back on your friends to help us?”

Jazz looked down at the floor introspectively. When he gave his reply he spoke softly, yet with conviction. “The way I figure, it’s the only way I can really help them.”

The Military Commander looked towards his communications officer. “Soundwave?” he asked, and Jazz picked up a certain amount of weariness in his voice; it was barely detectable, but it was there.

“He is telling the truth,” was all the mysterious, blue and white Decepticon offered his leader, but it seemed to suffice.

“Very well,” Megatron replied, before steering the conversation back to Scrapper. “It is an unusual request, and one that I would not normally consider under the circumstances. However, if you trust him,” he said to the Constructicon, “then you shall take responsibility for him.” He paused, walked towards the exit. “I shall return soon. In the meantime, Jazz, you are welcome to stay,” he said, and then exited the room without giving any further instructions.

Jazz watched him leave before turning to Scrapper. “Thank you,” he said.

The Constructicon gave him a small shrug. “Eh, it’s the least we can do. Besides, the more help we can get against the Alliance, the better. Come on, let’s get that component to Streetwise,” he said, indicating the primary systems link still in Jazz’s hand. Then he led the way out of the room and back up to the holding cell.

*

“I’ll wait here,” Scrapper informed Jazz as the two of them arrived just outside the door to the small room that held Streetwise.

Jazz nodded, and then opened the door before stepping inside. Streetwise was sitting on the floor of the cell, cross legged, facing the opposite wall, his back turned to the door. Jazz walked up quietly to stand before the energy bars, watching to see whether Streetwise was alerted to his presence, but the Protectobot did not move from his spot. “Street?” No response. “Street, I want you to know that I’m only trying to help. It ain’t fair, what’s happened…”

Streetwise suddenly stood up, turned to face him. “Fair? What do you know about _fair_ , Jazz?”

“Street, please just hear me out, okay?”

“No – I think _you_ should hear _me_ out!” Streetwise said, pointing, his anger once again getting the better of him, so Jazz decided to just let him speak. “Thanks to these _Decepticons_ , Groove’s as good as dead. But, then, what did you do? You helped them get away with it! And if _that_ weren’t enough, then you come here and act just like you’re one of them!” He shook his head in disappointment, his hands clenched into tight fists. “I mean, what the hell’s gotten into you, Jazz?”

Jazz watched him pace the small space of his holding cell, and realized that there was nothing more he could really say that would convince Streetwise to see things differently, so he kept his reply short and succinct. “I understand how you feel,” he said, though he couldn’t hide the sense of defeat that had taken a hold of him, or his own feelings of regret and disappointment.

Streetwise could only laugh with derision. “No, Jazz. You don’t. Because if you did, you’d want nothing to do with these murderous scum-bags.” He received no response. The words that he uttered next, however, would affect Jazz deeply, as if a dagger had been plunged straight into his spark chamber.

“I’ll promise you this right now, Jazz – if you ever show your face in Iacon again, I’m going to make sure that you get exactly what you deserve. I’m going to make sure that you and all your Decepticon buddies suffer in exactly the same way Groove was made to suffer, even if I have to do it myself.” His gaze locked onto Jazz’s, and the Autobot special operative found an unforgiving coldness in the Protectobot’s optics that took him by surprise. “That is, if I ever get out of here alive,” Streetwise finished, a twisted scowl taking over his expression.

Jazz felt as if the stark, metallic-grey room was closing in around him and an irrational, desperate need to get out of there as fast as he was able suddenly overwhelmed him. He had to fight with all his strength not to act upon his sudden urge. Instead he nodded sorrowfully, reached out his hand through a gap in the energy bars and then held it open for Streetwise. Groove’s primary systems link rested in his palm. “Here. Take this with you back to Iacon.”

As soon as Streetwise realized what he was looking at he carefully took the small object, and his scowl disintegrated, replaced by dazed confusion and utter shock, but Jazz was already making his way back to the door.

Walking out of the room, all Jazz could think about was just how unwelcome he would truly be now, amongst his own kind, should he return to Iacon. As he began to head back down the passage, he couldn’t bring himself to look back or to speak another word to Streetwise.

Scrapper was patiently waiting for him outside the holding cell, just as he’d promised. Jazz stopped and leaned against the wall beside him, tilting his head as he glanced up to look at the rugged ceiling of the passageway. He took a minute or two to regain his composure, then reactivated his visor, and the disappointment and despair that were clearly apparent in his optics became unobservable to another living spark.

“Jazz?”

He turned his head to acknowledge the Constructicon.

“Everything okay?”

Jazz nodded, though the expression on his face belied his emotions. “Yeah. Everything’s just fine,” he said, and then followed Scrapper as they both made their way back to the other Decepticons. 

* * *

The conference room in Iacon’s Command Center was beginning to fill with Autobots. Mixed sentiments existed among them, and no doubt there were many questions they wanted answered, though not one of them was prepared to speak a single word until Optimus Prime commenced the scheduled meeting. Immediately to Prime’s right Sentinel was seated; he had been invited to participate and contribute to discussions, while to Prime’s left was Prowl, holding a data pad and speaking over his com link to Red Alert, requesting the mech’s immediate attendance.

Optimus did not wait for the Acting Chief Medical Officer to arrive. “Before we begin with the reports, I’d like you all to welcome Sentinel to Iacon, if you have not already done so. He has agreed to stay for as long as necessary, and has kindly offered his assistance.” He acknowledged his officers with a glance while Sentinel sat motionless, his hands clasped together in front of him. No one spoke a word, so he continued. “Prowl?”

“Sir, I’m just waiting on Red Alert to show up,” the Chief of Security replied. “He’s on his way.”

Optimus nodded, and the room fell quiet. There was an air of uncomfortableness that seemed to grow stronger with each passing second, until Ironhide asked the unspoken question that was on all their minds. “Ah, Prime? We heard about Sideswipe. Is he going to be alright?”

Before Optimus could reply, Prowl intervened on his behalf. “Sideswipe is in good hands. Red Alert will provide us with a full report as soon as he arrives. Please, be patient.”

Ironhide, frustrated with Prowl’s stoic response, let out a sigh of frustration but returned no comment, instead muttered something under his breath that no one was able to catch, other than Trailbreaker who was seated beside him.

Then Sentinel cleared his vocal processor. “Optimus, if I may?” he began, as graciously as he was able. Optimus nodded in the affirmative and he smiled, turned to address the gathered Autobots. “I must extend my sincerest apologies to you all for my recent actions. Sideswipe gave me no other choice but to use force in order to defend myself. I know that I speak for everyone here when I say that we are all deeply concerned for his emotional and mental well-being. It is evident that he is a deeply disturbed and confused individual and, now more than ever, he needs all our help and support. I would also like to reassure you all that I will not be pressing any charges against him. My only wish is that he makes a complete recovery.” He received words of encouragement all round as they all offered him their understanding and agreement.

The door to the conference room slid open and Red Alert stepped inside. Glancing quickly around the room, he took an empty seat beside Prowl. “Sorry I’m late.” Prowl ignored his apology, instead gave him an expectant look. “Ah, right. My report.” Red wasted no time, looked to Optimus as he began. “Sideswipe is in a stable condition – sorry, _was_ – he sustained only minor damage.”

“‘Was’?” Prime repeated with slight concern in his voice.

Red Alert brushed it aside, nodding. “He must have discharged himself sometime during the recharge cycle. I haven’t seen him since,” he explained, none too pleased with the rebellious patient, but the former Autobot warrior’s behaviour was all too familiar.

“I see,” Optimus said simply. “What about Groove?”

Red shook his head in disappointment. “No change.”

The Autobot Commander nodded, and then Prowl took over. “Do you have the results for the check-ups I authorized?” he asked Red Alert. Red looked back at him in confusion, so Prowl elucidated. “The priority list of Autobots stationed at Antihex. I sent them to the maintenance and repair bay for a complete systems check. Do you have the results?”

All optics in the room glanced expectantly at Red Alert, who touched his forehead with the tips of his fingers in an effort to recall the entire list of patients who had reported in to the med bay during the last 20-hour orn for a full systems check. To his dismay, he could not bring to mind a single one. “Sorry, Prowl. I haven’t had any…” He trailed off, but then clicked his fingers in sudden realization. “Oh! Right, of course – that list you sent me,” he said, nodding affirmatively, but then immediately shook his head. “They never showed up.”

Prowl straightened in his seat, placed his data pad down on the table. “I beg your pardon?”

“They never showed up for their appointments. Not a single one.” Red Alert shrugged, at a loss to explain the reasons.

“Are you sure?” Prowl queried uncertainly.

“Yes, sir. Check the logs if you like.”

Prowl considered the situation, and then made his decision. “That won’t be necessary.” He turned to Prime. “Sir, permission to apprehend and detain the following list of Autobots for their failure to obey direct orders.” Prowl pushed the data pad across the table for Optimus’ perusal. The Autobot leader picked up the pad and scanned through the list, as Prowl explained the situation further. “They may have been compromised. If so, they pose an immediate security risk.”

“Understood.” Optimus handed him back the data pad. “Do what you must–”

He was cut off by Sentinel, who leaned across to reach for the data pad. “May I see that list?” Optimus nodded his approval, and Prowl passed it to him. After a brief glance through the list, Sentinel handed the pad back to Prowl. “These Autobots are all stationed at the Autobot-Neutral Command Post in Antihex. My own teams work with them often. If you would allow me, I can have them apprehended and brought in. It will be no problem.”

Considering his mentor’s request, Optimus found no reason to refute it. “Very well.”

Sentinel nodded, pleased, and then smiled.

* * *

Soon after the meeting ended, Optimus retreated to his quarters in the hopes of spending some time alone. As the Commander of the Autobot army and co-leader of the Autobot-Neutral Alliance, there were things that still needed to be re-evaluated, many decisions that still needed to be made, and while he did not particularly favour the heavy responsibilities of leadership, he accepted them without reservation or complaint.

If truth be told, he was worried about Elita and, although he’d never admit it to her directly, missed her company tremendously. The two of them were alike in so many ways, yet so different; he trusted her judgment and respected her opinion, probably more than any other Autobot’s, and he felt ashamed of the way he had treated her recently. But it was too late to tell her that now. All he could do was wait, and hope that Sentinel would bring her safely home soon.

Then there was Jazz. Perhaps he’d made a mistake, asking his First Lieutenant to take on such a dangerous mission into Decepticon territory. Though, Jazz’s recent words still troubled him.

_‘What if I were to tell you that Scavenger wasn’t the one who attacked Groove?’_

He had refused to listen, had tried to convince his friend and confidant of the Decepticon’s guilt. Yet he knew Jazz better than that, should have known that his First Lieutenant would never have said such a thing without good reason.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door chime, and he hesitated. He considered denying the visitor, ordering them to leave him alone, but then the chime activated a second time, and again a third, and so he relented and opened the door to his private quarters.

He did not expect Ratchet to charge in, offering him no words of greeting. “Prime, we need to talk,” he immediately declared, and his anger, although restrained, was undeniable.

“Ratchet,” Optimus acknowledged. “What about?”

The Chief Medical Officer roughly pushed a data pad across his desk. “Take a look at this.”

Optimus looked down at the pad on his desk. Whatever this was about, surely it could wait until tomorrow. “What is it?”

“Just read it!” Ratchet insisted, all notion of rank carelessly thrown aside.

The Autobot leader sighed, picked up the pad and scanned the list of files before looking back up at Ratchet. “These are Wheeljack’s laboratory notes,” he stated.

“No – _original_ laboratory notes,” Ratchet corrected him, and then gave him an expectant look. “There’s an entry in there that appears to have been later deleted. Read it,” Ratchet pressed.

Optimus was in no mood to contend with the Autobot’s chief medic. He began to read through the contents of the first file until, after a few minutes, looked back up at Ratchet in puzzlement.

“If that Decepticon was responsible for coming up with the _cure_ to the virus, then why would he also have been the one to create the damned thing in the first place? It just doesn’t make sense!” Ratchet placed both hands on the desk to steady himself, and hung his head.

But Optimus had no immediate answers for him. He placed the pad back down on the desk and stood up, then paced towards the live visual display of Cybertronian space on the wall. The room was quiet as he considered the implications of Ratchet’s discovery, until finally he spoke. “It certainly raises more questions than we have the answers to.”

Ratchet looked back up to face his Commander. “I just don’t believe it. But it’s right there in Wheeljack’s notes. If it’s true and he’s innocent – damn it, Optimus, after all this time.” He sighed in resignation. “Just what in the Pit is going on?”

“I don’t know, Ratchet, but it appears that someone didn’t want us to know the truth.” Optimus turned to face his chief medic. “Perhaps it might also explain why Wheeljack disappeared,” he added.

Ratchet nodded, and then slowly paced the room in deep thought until, after a few moments, he spoke again. “We need to find out what really happened. If that ‘Con’s still alive and functional, then we need to find him.” He turned back to Optimus, a weak glimmer of hope in his optics. “And, maybe – he might be able to tell us what happened to Wheeljack.”

* * *

“Elita! Elita, wait!” the femme Commander’s second in charge called out as she struggled to keep up through the crowded city pavement. Grabbing hold of her arm, she forced her best friend to acknowledge her. “Elita, would you at least tell us where we’re going?”

The pink Autobot slowed to a stop, and then pointed up towards large, illuminated letters above the entrance to a richly adorned establishment. “There,” she said simply.

Firestar and Moonracer stopped short right behind them, and they both looked up in puzzlement as they realized what their team leader had in mind.

“You can’t be serious?” Firestar vocalized her thoughts out loud, as Moonracer’s face lit up in surprise, her optics widening in anticipation.

Elita turned to face them. “Well, why not? Unless any of you have a better idea,” she said, looking at each of them expectantly. “Didn’t think so. Come on.” She waved at them to follow her inside, but Chromia stopped her.

“Wait. ‘ _The Gambler’s Den_ ’?” she said, reading the words on the building aloud, incredulous. “What exactly are we supposed to do _here_?”

“Win us some credits,” Elita offered matter-of-factly. “What else?”

“But, Elita–” The blue femme hesitated, mentally gathering together all the many reasons why this was a really bad idea. “We don’t have any credits to gamble away! And besides, none of us here are any good at it–”

“Ooh, let me try! _Please_?” Moonracer quickly cut in, her hands clasped together in prayer.

“’Racer – no!” Chromia rebuked.

“Oh, please! Elita, let me try, please? I can do it!” the green femme persisted, beseeching their team leader.

When Elita said nothing to dissuade her, Chromia shook her head, looking down at the pavement with hands on her hips. “I can’t believe this,” she muttered in a low voice.

“Moonracer’s always said how she’s dreamed of experiencing the Big City,” Elita explained. “Well, since we’re here, why not let her have her fun?”

The green femme was ecstatic at the opportunity that had just been offered to her, and she jumped up and down in glee. “ _Yesss_! Oh, thank you, Elita! Thank you!”

The femme Commander retrieved a handful of credits and handed them to Moonracer, who took them appreciatively. “Here. That’s all we have. It’s not much, but it’s something.” Then she started towards the grand entrance of the luxurious gambling hall. “Come on.”

The three femmes followed their team leader into the brightly-lit foyer, where it opened up into several large rooms. Moonracer checked out each space before settling upon the main gaming area, and Elita indicated for her to go inside.

Several tables and gambling machines occupied every available space of the large room, and to the left was a bar and lounge. The three femmes watched Moonracer as she disappeared amongst the throng of patrons, her face beaming with excitement, and then they settled into some empty seats in the lounge area.

“So… how many credits did you give her, exactly?” Firestar queried, curious.

Elita shrugged. “Five.”

Chromia simply shook her head in disbelief, while the red femme snorted in response. “Well, I hope you have a backup plan,” she said.

* * *

“That’s all I know. One cycle I’m on Cybertron, and then the next…” Comet trailed off, shrugging dismissively. The discarded half of empty drum that he had been using to lean his head against had now become his makeshift seat. Sunstreaker sat opposite him on the floor, watching him play idly with a non-functional automatic release switch.

“You mean you don’t know why you were sent here?” the yellow Autobot asked. They had spent the last half hour exchanging stories of the old days on Cybertron, though the conversation had remained more or less casual. While Sunstreaker had tried hard to get Comet to open up and share more of his personal story, he could not get him to do so, but neither could he deny that it frustrated him no end, though he had no idea why he should feel this way about a Decepticon who he’d only recently met. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that Comet had saved his life. Or, perhaps, there was something more to the seeker than met the optic.

“No.” They sat together in silence for several moments, the constant churn of the recycling machinery in the background the only sound keeping them company. Sunstreaker was about to say something further when Comet spoke again – only this time, his voice took on a bitterness that the Autobot had not heard from him before. “I can’t go back. They _abandoned_ me.”

The words were barely audible, and he had to run them again through his audio processor to make sense of them. “They?” Sunstreaker asked, but Comet did not expand upon it further; his face was turned away, expression hidden from view. “Comet?” he prompted softly, not wanting to upset him more than he already was.

When Comet turned to face him, his intense gaze suddenly made him feel uneasy. “They abandoned me! Banished me here. What other possible explanation could there be?” He spoke with such antagonism that it caught Sunstreaker off-guard.

“You think your own kind abandoned you?” Sunstreaker said incredulously. He shook his head in disbelief. “No – why would they?”

“I don’t know!” Comet could no longer hide his pain and he looked away again, fighting to keep his voice from breaking but fast losing the battle. “I don’t know.” Then he stopped talking and just sat there in silence.

“Comet, maybe you’re wrong. Maybe they didn’t abandon you at all,” Sunstreaker offered, after a long while. He spoke softly, comfortingly. “I know what it’s like to be separated from those who are supposed to care about you the most, and believe me when I say that… they would never have abandoned you.” It was his turn now to confront his own grief, face up to past regrets that he had not been able to shake since he’d left Cybertron more than a vorn ago. “They probably had no choice.”

Comet remained motionless. He appeared to be listening, yet still unwilling to share the circumstances of his exile any further, so Sunstreaker said nothing more on the subject.

It was just as well, because at that same moment the doors to the facility suddenly opened. Comet jumped into action and all discussion of the past, along with the inoperative switch in his hand, now completely forgotten. He ducked down behind a nearby scrap pile and indicated for Sunstreaker to do the same. “Get down!” he ordered, motioning with his hand, and Sunstreaker quickly moved behind another scrap pile, using it as a cover.

Several moments went by, and Sunstreaker felt as though time had slowed right down. He kept his gaze fixed upon Comet, who was directly in his line of sight, and watched as the seeker kept a close optic on the mech who had just entered the facility, tracking him intently, his blaster at the ready. It was too risky for him to do the same, since his scrap heap was not as concealed as Comet’s.

But Sunstreaker did not need optics to hear the deliberate footfalls, or sense the ominous presence that was moving purposefully through the scrap metal piles towards them. The mech made very few sounds as he continued forward, and then let out a low grunt. Before Sunstreaker knew what was happening, Comet had moved out from behind his scrap pile and then was crouching down again right beside him. “I’m going to try to direct him towards the explosive,” he explained quickly, his voice a whisper. “Wish me luck,” he added, before leaping out from behind the pile.

Comet stopped several mechano-meters in front of the Pretender, arm-mounted weapon raised threateningly at him. “Don’t come any closer!”

The robot warrior let out a mocking laugh. His sword, now drawn, shimmered with pink energy along its length. “Ah, just the stupid fool I was looking for,” he replied with menace, his voice a low rumble.

It was then that Sunstreaker realized, with both trepidation and an uncanny sense of accomplishment, the identity of the mech. “Bludgeon,” he whispered to himself, as he tried to settle his frantic thoughts.

“Why don’t you just go back to the slag heap you came from?” Comet insulted the samurai warrior, and hoped that the explosive he had anchored to the wall wouldn’t be spotted. “You and your slag maker spark-mate, you worthless pieces of junk!” he continued, attempting to distract Bludgeon as he inched a few steps closer towards the wall.

Bludgeon’s mocking laughter faded and was replaced by a snarl. “I’m going to enjoy crushing your very spark with my bare hands!” he threatened, and then lunged forward with an angry bellow, sword held high in front of him.

Sunstreaker looked up from behind his cover just in time to see Bludgeon step close enough to trigger Comet’s makeshift bomb. The surge of the power pack made a high pitched whine before it overloaded, and then the wall exploded in a magnificent shower of sparks and plasma energy. Bludgeon did not know what had hit him as he was instantly knocked offline. The impact of the blast had caused the Pretender to be thrown back into a jagged piece of bulkhead off-cut with such overwhelming force that he was almost torn in two, and then his body slid limply down to the ground. Lying on his back, Bludgeon’s left arm had been blown cleanly from his body, and his left optic was shattered. His shell had sustained a large tear down the middle, from which mech fluid was already leaking.

The yellow Autobot warrior slowly straightened. Optics fixated upon Bludgeon, he began to make his way toward the off-lined assassin while Comet, who had safely avoided the blast, waited several seconds before moving to stand behind Sunstreaker.

“Well, that worked better than I thought,” the seeker said smugly, clearly satisfied.

Sunstreaker turned to gaze at him in astonishment. Still in mild shock after witnessing his long time adversary being so quickly and easily defeated, a small nod was all he could manage. 

* * *

More than half hour had passed since Moonracer had gone to try her luck at the gaming tables, and Chromia was beginning to worry. “Where in the Pits _is_ she? Surely she doesn’t still have those five credits you gave her?”

“I’m going to go look for her. Wait here.” Elita started to get up, but was stopped by Firestar with a finger pointed in the direction of the tables.

“Speaking of our little femme, here she comes now.”

The three of them watched as Moonracer came bounding up to them, ignoring their concerned looks. She was beaming at them, holding out a credit token in her hand.

“Well?” Chromia asked, curious.

Moonracer giggled. “Well… here, take it!” she said, jumping up and down in a celebratory dance.

Elita grabbed the token from her, and had to do a double take. “’Racer,” she said, looking up at the green femme in astonishment, “how did you?”

Moonracer grinned proudly. “Piece of oil cake!” she said.

“Let me see that,” Firestar cut in, pulling the token from Elita’s hand. “No _way._ ”

She in turn showed it to Chromia, who shook her head to make sure her optical sensors were functioning properly. “Five _hundred_ credits? ‘Racer, how’d you do it?”

“It was easy,” Moonracer answered. “Do you want to try? I can show you–”

“No,” Chromia quickly responded, raising a hand to back her off. “Thank you, Moon, but I think we’ll leave all the gambling in your capable hands.”

“Oh, okay. Well, if you’re sure.” Moonracer looked back at Elita, her optics widening in thought. “Oh, can I go again? _Please_ , Elita?”

“Oh, no. Uh-uh,” the femme Commander replied sternly, and Moonracer’s face fell, shoulders slumping slightly. Elita sighed, tried to explain her reasoning. “’Racer, you’ve done _really_ well. I mean, these credits will certainly come in handy. But, you wouldn’t want to push your luck.”

“Aw.” Moonracer took a seat beside Firestar, hands in her lap. “Okay.”

Elita sighed again, turning the token over in her fingers. “But, if I _were_ to let you go again…” she said after several moments.

Moonracer’s face lit up like a beacon. “You mean it?!”

Elita gave her a resigned look, handed her back the token. “Here, take fifty, but hold onto the rest.”

“Oh, thank you, ‘Lita! You won’t regret it, I promise,” Moonracer answered, jumping up from her seat excitedly before heading back to the tables, disappearing amidst the crowd once more.

“Think she’s cheating?” Firestar casually asked the other two femmes.

“Hm. Maybe,” Elita replied.

Chromia considered the possibility, but then shook her head dismissively. “Nah.” Then she stood up and motioned for the other two to do the same. “Come on; let’s go watch her – just in case.” Shrugging, Elita and Firestar rose from their seats and followed her into the multitude of enthralled gamers.

Watching the three femmes from the bar nearby, the spotter downed the rest of his liquid fuel before he inconspicuously activated his transceiver and spoke into it. “Yeah. It’s Doubledealer. Yeah, thought he might be very interested to know who’s at _The Den…_ Elita One _…_ no, I don’t know.” He began to move slowly past the seated patrons in between the gaming tables, making sure the Autobot femmes didn’t see him. “Yeah. Got it. Will let you know.” Then he cut the transmission and, after a brief pause, walked up to the Roulette table to stand behind the green femme.

* * *

Several long moments passed before Sunstreaker spoke again. “Is he dead?”

Comet shrugged, knelt down to examine the body. “Unfortunately, no. Just offline.” He stood up again, kicked Bludgeon in his side to show his disgust. “Come on, let’s get out of here,” he said, and started towards the open doors of the facility, but was stopped by Sunstreaker.

“Wait.”

Comet glanced back around to witness the Autobot simply standing there, staring down at the off-lined mech. Sunstreaker carefully, cautiously, knelt down, then extended a hand out to hover it tentatively over the skeletal-looking face before he suddenly withdrew it again. He seemed mesmerized by the Pretender, overcome with morbid fascination. Then he stood up again and took a few steps back, though his optics were still fixated upon their defeated foe.

Comet went to stand quietly beside him, unsure of what was going on with the Autobot and feeling uncertain about how to handle the situation. Then he crossed his arms and looked down at Bludgeon’s motionless body. “He’s going to be really mad when he wakes up, you know,” he offered, trying to lighten the mood. “We should go now while we still have the advantage.” Still no response from the Autobot. “Or we could just stay here… wait for his goons to come along so we can kick some more aft. Hey, I’m easy,” he said, shrugging.

That seemed to break Sunstreaker’s trance, and he cracked an apologetic smile at the seeker. “Sorry. It’s just that… I’ve been trying to track this guy down ever since I followed him here to Alternity City.” He paused, reflecting upon the few times he had come close to overpowering the Pretender, only to have his attempts thwarted by the powerful warrior. “And now…” Trailing off, he gestured with one hand at the fallen mech.

Curiosity suddenly got the better of Comet. “Why on Cybertron would an Autobot like you waste his time chasing a slag sucker like him?”

Sunstreaker sighed regretfully. “Long story, but, remember how I said that I know what it’s like to be separated from those you care about? Well, he’s the reason I left Cybertron in the first place,” he said, nodding towards Bludgeon. “Only I did it against direct orders. I knew that Bludgeon was involved with that virus somehow because I had caught him trying to gain access to one of our labs, so I confronted him and he told me that if I didn’t keep quiet I’d end up like Wheeljack, our resident scientist. I tried to warn the Alliance, but was told to stay out of it. Sentinel had insisted that he would take care of Bludgeon himself… but then, soon after, I overheard them both talking in private, and that’s when I knew that something wasn’t right.”

Comet had remained perfectly still, listening intently until Sunstreaker had finished speaking. “So, you decided to follow Bludgeon to Alternity City on your own,” he said, finishing the story for him, “and against your brother’s wishes.”

Sunstreaker looked at him in astonishment. “Yes. But how did you know about my brother?”

The seeker shrugged. “It makes sense, from what you’ve already told me.”

“Oh.” Sunstreaker turned away from him and walked a few paces as he sought to gather his thoughts. “I should never have left the way I did.”

“Well, does he know how you feel?” Comet asked him in his decidedly straightforward manner.

“I tried getting messages to him a few times, but I had no way of knowing if he ever received them.” Sunstreaker walked back to stand beside the seeker. “Then, after a while… I guess I just stopped trying.”

Moments of silence passed between them, and then Comet returned his attention back to the situation at hand. “So, what do you want to do with _him_?” he said with contempt, motioning with his thumb at the still off-lined Bludgeon.

“I’m not sure.” Sunstreaker looked uncertainly down at the warrior. If they simply left him here, they could be long gone by the time he awoke. Or he could try to interrogate Bludgeon, try to find out who was responsible for those deactivated Autobots he’d found at that relay station, along with the extent of Sentinel’s involvement. “I mean, he must know something about Hitec’s operations.”

But there was a third option that he had not considered – at least, not until Comet brought it up. “Yes, we could question him, find out what he knows,” Comet affirmed, nodding, “or, we could just kill him.”

Sunstreaker remained motionless as he considered the consequences of that particular course of action. He had never killed anyone before in a premeditative manner, and the very notion of it made him feel uneasy. “You mean, just like that?” he asked finally.

Comet noticed his discomfort, though he made no attempt to alleviate it. Instead, he reached down to pick up Bludgeon’s sword, which lay only a few feet from the warrior’s inert body. Holding it up, he examined its lethal blade before offering it to Sunstreaker. “Here, finish him off with this.”

The yellow Autobot fought to overcome the quandary of his conscience as he reached out to grasp the sword by its hilt. Then he carefully positioned its tip so that it was pointing directly at Bludgeon’s spark chamber. The weapon felt powerful in his hands, and he experienced a macabre sense of satisfaction with the knowledge that his enemy would soon be slaughtered by his own sword.

But if he killed Bludgeon in cold blood, he knew that there would be no going back.

He raised the weapon above his head, ready to plunge the blade deep into the mech’s heart, but then, gradually, he lowered it again, dropped his arm down to his side, sword still in hand. “I can’t,” he said.

Unfazed by the Autobot’s momentary show of weakness, Comet grabbed the sword from him and, before Sunstreaker could stop him, plunged the sword’s tip straight into the Pretender’s spark chamber with a mighty thrust, and in less time than the flicker of an optic, the deed was done.

Sunstreaker watched in stunned silence as Bludgeon’s Pretender shell twisted and writhed as surges of electrical energy pulsated through it, the very life force irreversibly draining away, the spark extinguishing in a sudden flare of blue light. Then the body became still once again, its remaining optic now only a pool of empty blackness, and it was over. Bludgeon was dead.

* * *

Astrotrain led the way through one of Binaltech’s many exchange hubs, accompanied by Astro and Rook. His orders had been to rendezvous with several Decepticon jets, but the recent close encounter with Jhiaxus had prevented him from doing so until now. “They’re going to have my aft,” he said, as he stopped and looked around for any sign of them.

“Over there,” Astro said casually, scanning the area.

Astrotrain turned to see where the mech was pointing, and then nodded. “Ah, that’s them.” He recognized the familiar forms of the Decepticon seekers; four were seated on a bench, while the fifth stood a few paces away from the others, peering out into the crowd. As he and his two companions started toward the group, he called out to them once they were clearly within audio range. “Hey, you five seem kind of lost. Need help?”

Dirge, the blue and black team leader, spun around as his four team mates got up from their seats at the sound of Astrotrain’s voice.

“There you are, you slagger,” Dirge grumbled in greeting, walking over to him. “Where in the Pits have you been?”

“It’s nice to see you, too,” Astrotrain replied glibly, ignoring Dirge’s obvious discontent. “Sorry I’m late; we got a little side-tracked.”

Dirge sized him up, his expression grim. He nodded towards the smaller green mech beside him. “What is Rook doing with you?” he asked, doubtful, before turning to observe the unfamiliar Cybertronian accompanying them. “And who’s he?”

Before Astrotrain could respond, Astro answered for him. “You can call me Astro.”

He was met with blank expressions from all five jets. “Astro, huh? Never heard of you,” Dirge said.

Astro ignored him, instead turned to Astrotrain. “You remember that Decepticon transmission you were tracking earlier?”

Astrotrain nodded. “Sure.”

“Good. You’re going to help us find the one who sent it,” Astro asserted. “And then you can take us all home,” he added, after a pause.

The triple changer took a few moments to consider the new instructions before nodding in acquiescence. “Sure thing.” He seemed unperturbed by Astro’s clear exertion of authority; Dirge, however, would not accept it so readily.

“Hey, we’ve already got our orders. Astrotrain’s returning to Cybertron with _us_ ,” Dirge said, gesturing towards the Deception shuttle and his own team of seekers.

But Astro did not seem intimidated by his attitude at all. “Not any more; there’s been a slight change of plans.”

Ramjet, the grey and white jet standing beside his team leader, cut in; he was just as confounded as Dirge, if not bothered, by Astro’s apparent lack of respect for them. “Now, you look here – I don’t know who the hell you think you are, _Astro_ , but no one tells us what to do except for Megatron,” he said, his voice angry, as Thrust, Bitstream and Acid Storm stood resolutely by him in silent support.

“Then I suggest, if you don’t want to disobey Megatron’s direct orders, that you do exactly as I tell you,” Astro replied, without hesitation.

Dirge was about to reprove him for his self-proclaimed high position in the chain of command, when he stopped short. “Wait a nano-second…” He stepped closer towards the strange mech, scrutinizing him. “You’re–” Then he pulled away in suspicion. “Do I know you?”

Astro gave him an unreadable expression. “That’s not important right now. What _is_ important is that we find Comet before _they_ do.” The gathered Decepticons listened intently to what he had to say. It was the first time that Rook had heard Astro mention the missing mech’s name.

Dirge tilted his head slightly to one side, recalling his recent encounter with Thunderblast. “Did you just say _Comet_?”

Astro nodded. “Was he here?”

“I have no idea,” Dirge started. “But some femme was telling us about a Comet just a short while ago.”

“A femme, huh?” Astrotrain queried, his curiosity piqued. “Cybertronian?”

“Yeah. Real piece of work, too,” Thrust commented.

Rook glanced up at Astro, and their thoughts were the same. “Thunderblast,” they said in unison.

“Yeah, that was her,” Dirge confirmed. “You two know her?”

“Not in a way she’d like, I’m sure,” Astro replied. “What did she tell you, exactly?”

Dirge hesitated, recalling the details of his conversation with the femme. “Not much. She said she’d spoken to this Comet recently… then mentioned that he was in trouble. She didn’t say what kind of trouble, nor did I think to ask.” Astro nodded in contemplation, and Dirge added, “Oh. She also said that he’d been here.” They each contemplated Dirge’s account in silence, until Astro turned away from the group.

Rook watched him carefully. “What are you thinking?” he asked, below normal audial range.

Astro shook his head uncertainly. “We’ve got to return to the base,” he said quietly. “There’s no other choice.”

Rook’s optics widened in fear at the very suggestion. “The base? As in–”

“Yes, Rook; as in the Hitec base.”

“No, you can’t – I _won’t_!”

Astro watched as the smaller mech stood his ground, his protestation attracting the triple changer’s attention.

“He won’t what?” Astrotrain asked, concerned.

Astro exhaled slowly. “If Comet’s been captured, then there’s only one place I can think of where they would have taken him.”

Rook spoke up before the other two could say anything more. “If we return to Hitec, we’ll be captured for sure. They would have tripled down on security since… since that incident,” he explained, meeting Dirge’s gaze as he realized the identity of the five intruders that had infiltrated the northern perimeter of the base not too long ago. They were standing right in front of him, now listening in. “The High Commander has many loyal agents–”

“You mean aft-kissers,” Astrotrain corrected him.

“–who are probably hunting us down as we speak. Not to mention there is most certainly a generous bounty on all our heads. It’s a suicide mission to even consider going back there!” Rook finished in exasperation.

Dirge, having considered his view point, offered his own. “He’s right. It’s suicidal. We barely got out of there alive ourselves,” he said, indicating behind him at his team.

Rook began to calm down, quietly thankful for Dirge’s wise counsel. Astro hesitated, and Rook found his atypical uncertainty rather unusual.

“Besides, how can we be sure that Comet is still functional? If he’s been captured, then–” Dirge continued, but Astro cut him short.

“No. They’d want to keep him alive.” Astro did not elaborate, nor did any of them question him on the point further.

“May I make a small suggestion?” Astrotrain said finally, and then continued without waiting for a response. “If _we_ can’t go to _them_ , then maybe we can get _them_ to come to _us_.”

Astro looked across at the triple changer, and a new plan began to formulate in his processor.


	12. Chapter 12

“ _Yess_!” Moonracer clasped her hands together in excitement, bouncing gleefully up and down as the winning numbers lit up beside the spinning Roulette wheel as it slowed to a stop. “Come to Moony,” she beckoned to the tokens as the gaming attendant handed her a portion of the total prize pool on the table.

“Hey, you’re pretty good at this. Mind if I watch?” a masculine voice said from behind her.

Moonracer giggled. “Well, sure! If you want–” She turned to face the mech. He was a tall, blue Cybertronian with a right shoulder-mounted missile and an Autobot symbol prominently displayed in the middle of his chest. “Oh, _hey_! You’re an Autobot!” she said in pleasant surprise.

The Autobot smiled at her. “Sure am – at least, last I checked,” he answered humorously.

“Oh, of course! Well, what I meant was, I mean–” Moonracer paused, and for the first time in a long while she began to feel a little self-conscious.

“Oh, let me guess,” the Autobot interjected reassuringly. “You were wondering what a strong and capable mech like myself was doing in a place like this? Well, quite frankly, my dear, I find you utterly captivating.” His voice was soothing, and his undeniable self-confidence did not go unnoticed.

Moonracer was caught off guard by his charm, and she bit her lower lip. “I, um,” she said, pointing behind her with her thumb. “You know, I really should be going…”

“No – please, stay,” he said, feigning concern. “If I’ve offended you–”

“Oh, no, I’m not offended. I mean, you didn’t offend me. I just – well, you know…” she started, and then chuckled as she realized how silly this whole misunderstanding was.

“’Racer?” It was the familiar voice of the femme Commander.

Moonracer’s face lit up as she welcomed Elita One, who moved closer to stand beside her, followed by Chromia and Firestar. “Oh! Hi, Elita!” She proudly handed her the credits she’d won at Roulette. Her winnings were nowhere near as substantial as her beginner’s streak, but it was still impressive.

Elita looked down at the credits that had been placed in her hand and slowly nodded in approval, hand on hip. “And you haven’t been cheating, of course?

Moonracer looked taken aback. “Cheating? No way, Elita – I _swear_!”

The Autobot, who had been listening in on their conversation, cleared his vocal processor. “It’s true – she didn’t cheat.” The three femmes glanced over at him in confusion and he added, “I was watching her play.”

Firestar crossed her arms in a defensive gesture, while Elita sized him up. “Oh. And you must be…” she said.

“Of course, I’m sorry, where are my manners? Name’s Double,” he answered, smiling.

Elita noticed his Autobot insignia, and then directed her attention to Moonracer. “He a friend of yours?”

The green femme shook her head. “No, we only just met.”

Elita looked back towards the Autobot. “Double – interesting name.” But then she became distant, as if she had suddenly lost interest in getting to know him any more. “Look, we’ve got to get going. Chrome?” she said, indicating towards the exit with a nod of her head, and then turned to leave.

“Hey, listen, uh… how about a round of drinks?” Double called after her. “On me?” Elita One hesitated. She really did want to source that beam array they still needed for a long distance transmitter, now that Moonracer had won them enough credits, but just as she was about to decline his offer he said something that caught her attention. “They know you’re here.”

A wave of coldness swept through her as he uttered those words. “I beg your pardon?” she said, turning back to face him, now on guard.

Double casually motioned for them to follow him towards the bar, trying to remain as low key as possible. “Come on,” he said, indicating with a nod of his head.

The femmes watched as Double headed over to the bar to order some drinks, then exchanged glances among themselves. “I get a bad feeling about this, Elita,” Chromia said.

Elita nodded in agreement. “Me, too,” she replied, and then motioned for the three femmes to follow her. “Stay on alert,” she warned them, as she led the way after Double towards the bar.

*

It wasn’t until Double had shown Elita and the femmes to an empty table in a separate lounge area adjacent the main gambling hall at _The Den_ , encouraging them to each take a seat, that he informed the femme Commander of the news. “You’re lucky I found you first. You’ve got a price on your head.”

Elita did not appear surprised by this revelation. “Yeah, I kind of figured that when our cruiser was attacked,” she said, taking a sip of energon as she eyed the unfamiliar Autobot with a certain amount of scepticism. “Tell me, why don’t I remember ever seeing you back on Cybertron?”

Double responded with a casual tilt of his canister. “Probably because I’m part of special ops. We don’t usually have much to do with normal military efforts.”

“I see.” Elita was not entirely convinced, but let the matter slide. “Have you been following us?”

Double shook his head. “Nope. I happened to notice – I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name?” he said, catching Moonracer’s gaze with a smile.

“Moonracer,” Elita answered for her.

“Right. Moonracer,” he repeated. “That’s a pretty name.” The green femme returned his smile, as her companions watched the two of them with reservation. “You know, she seems to have quite a knack for gambling. I think she’s a natural,” he continued.

“You know, it’s probably just beginner’s luck,” Firestar retorted, attempting to deflect the beguiling influence he appeared to be having on Moonracer in particular, who couldn’t stop smiling.

Elita quickly emptied the rest of her drink and stood up, almost slamming the canister down on the table. “Right, well, thank you for your hospitality, Double, but we really _do_ need to get going now. Let’s go, girls,” she said to the femmes, and then turned to leave.

As the rest of her team stood up to follow her, all four were stopped dead in their tracks by a group of six mechs standing right behind them, blocking their path. To their utter surprise and disbelief, the mechs were all Neutrals. Elita turned slowly back towards Double, who now had a weapon pointed at her. “Going somewhere?” he asked. His calm and confident reassurance had all but disappeared, replaced by a scowl upon his face. He nodded towards Elita One. “Take her,” he ordered the six Neutrals, and they began to close in on her. Chromia and Firestar tried to stop them, but three of the Neutrals already had their laser blasters pointed at them.

“I knew this was a bad idea,” Chromia said to Firestar in frustration, as Moonracer reached out in an attempt to grab onto Elita One. But it was no use; the Neutrals were too strong as they held her back.

“Chromia, find help–!” Elita managed to say, before she was silenced with a blaster shot to her chest, causing her to go offline.

“Elita, _no_!” Moonracer exclaimed. “Let her go, you double-crossing scum-bag!” she yelled at Double, flustered and very upset, but he just stood there watching her, a smug expression on his face. “How _could_ you?!”

“As I said before, your dear Commander has a price on her head,” he explained, and then motioned for the Neutral team to leave the lounge area. They did so, carrying Elita One’s inert frame away with them. “Now, you three will stay right here and behave yourselves,” he continued, as he began to leave the lounge, his rifle still trained on the remaining three Autobot femmes. “Don’t try to follow us, if you don’t want any harm to come to her,” he warned.

Watching helplessly as Double disappeared out of the lounge area, the three femmes saw no other option but to do as he’d told them.

* * *

Streetwise had no idea how he’d ended up back outside the solitary tower at the site of the former Darkmount castle, nor did he care. He scrambled to his feet and checked to make sure he still had the small component that Jazz had offered him only moments before. Relieved, his hand closed tightly around the object and he started down the road back to Iacon even before his wheels had hit the ground, transforming into his patrol car mode.

Boosting power to his engine, he tried to stay focused on the task ahead, but after all that had happened he still couldn’t believe that one of their own kind had betrayed them; in the midst of his rage he could not comprehend how or why Jazz, of all mechs, had had Groove’s vital systems link in his possession, though the more he thought about it the more he came to realize the implications of Jazz’s possible involvement in Groove’s attack. Had the special operative played a deliberate part in the attack since the very beginning, all the while convincing everyone of his innocence? Streetwise couldn’t prove any of it, of course, but it was all starting to make a little more sense to him now.

But the question of whether Jazz was guilty or not would have to wait. The most important thing was that he get Groove’s component back to the repair bay as fast as he could. He opened an emergency communication channel to Iacon’s Command Center, and waited for a response.

“Iacon Command here. What is your emergency?” Though it wasn’t stated, by the sound of the mech’s voice Streetwise was certain that it was Prowl on the other end.

“Prowl?”

“Yes. Please state the emergency.” Prowl sounded distant and somewhat distracted – a character trait that was very much unusual for him.

“This is Streetwise. I’ve got Groove’s systems link. I’m headed for the repair bay; I’ll be there in less than half a mega cycle.” There was silence on the other end, and Streetwise thought that maybe his com link had been disconnected. “Prowl? Did you hear me? I said I’ve got Groove’s systems link!”

“Yes, Streetwise, I heard you,” Prowl replied curtly.

“Well, could you let Ratchet know so he can get ready to bring Groove out of stasis?” Streetwise continued impatiently.

Seconds later and Prowl acknowledged him again. “Understood. Stand by,” he said, and then cut the link without any further explanation. A few moments passed, and then Red Alert’s voice came over his com.

“Street?” Red Alert asked. “You found Groove’s P.S.L.?”

“Not exactly…” he began, reluctant to go into any details.

A brief pause and then, “But you have it?” Red Alert questioned disbelievingly.

“Yeah. I have it with me. I’m on my way to repairs right now.”

A slight pause as Red assimilated the news. “Okay. I’ll be waiting,” Red Alert said, and then added, “Hurry,” before closing the link.

Streetwise increased power to his engine, breaking the cautionary speed limits as he passed through south central Iacon, determined to save his team mate’s life.

*

Groove was beginning to take on the pale, washed out color that signaled the beginning of death. Standing by Red Alert’s side, Arcee waited anxiously for Streetwise to arrive with the patient’s vital component. She was overcome with feelings of both excitement and dread as she stared down at the Protectobot still in semi-stasis on the med bay berth. His systems had unexpectedly begun to deteriorate over the past few days, and neither Red Alert nor even Ratchet himself could offer a plausible explanation for it.

When Streetwise had contacted them several breems ago with the totally unexpected news of the safe recovery of Groove’s stolen systems link, she had cried out in joy, had even shared an embrace with Red Alert.

“It’s not over yet,” the medical officer had reassured her in a low voice, wanting very much to offer words of comfort but not quite knowing what else to say.

She had gently pulled away, nodding in understanding. “I know. I know.”

Then they had focused upon preparing the area for the emergency operation that they would soon need to perform if Groove was to have any chance of survival.

Arcee had notified the other three Protectobots as soon as she’d heard the news. Hot Spot and Blades had promised to be there before the end of the duty cycle while First Aid, who had just returned from an assignment in Altihex, would get to the med bay as fast as he could, even offered his assistance if he made it back in time for the procedure.

When Streetwise eventually burst through the maintenance and repair bay doors with Groove’s component clutched tightly in his hand, the place was relatively quiet and sparingly occupied, save for Red Alert, Arcee, and their critical patient.

“Red! Red! I’ve got Groove’s systems link–” Streetwise yelled out, and then stopped in his tracks when he saw his team mate’s grave condition. “Are we too late? Red?” he asked in a sudden panic.

Red Alert took the component from his hand and immediately went to work on the dying patient, not even stopping to acknowledge the distraught Streetwise; he would have to leave that job to Arcee.

She forcefully yet gently guided him away from the berth while speaking in a soothing, comforting voice. “No, we’re not too late – he’s still got a fighting chance, but you need to move away if we’re going to have any shot at saving his life.”

Streetwise faltered, backing away slightly, though his gaze remained fixated upon his fallen team mate. “He looks terrible… why does he look so bad?” His gaze suddenly turned towards Arcee, who continued to gently guide him away.

“You did well, Streetwise. Recovering his systems link was the best thing you could have done for him,” she said, empathy in her optics as she did her best to reassure him.

“But what if he doesn’t make it? What if it’s too late?” Streetwise said, panic resurfacing. “What if he’s already dead?”

“Arcee! I’ll need your help here!” Red Alert suddenly called out over his shoulder, and she quickly glanced towards him before looking back at Streetwise.

Her tone became firm, though her voice was still kind. “Listen, the rest of your team mates will be here very, very soon, but I’m really going to need you to stay right over here, okay? Can you do that for me?” She drew her hand away from where it had been resting on his arm and dashed across to the emergency berth, though she did not take her optics away from him until she was sure that he had calmed down enough to heed her request.

“Arcee, I’ve reinstalled his link. I’m ready for the power core, but I’ll need you to let me know if there are any incompatibilities in the power signal and compensate accordingly,” Red Alert explained, talking quickly. “It’s going to be especially critical when we bring him out of stasis.”

“Got it,” Arcee replied, and stood by the monitors ready for Red Alert to begin the next step in the delicate procedure. She watched as Red Alert carefully, yet working as quickly as he could, positioned the power core within the receptacle in Groove’s chest. Next, he went to work restoring Groove’s spark chamber connections, effectively taking him out of semi-stasis.

Red Alert paused momentarily for a deep intake of air. “Initializing,” he said, then activated the power core as Arcee continued to monitor the signal output. After a few moments, Arcee sighed in relief as Groove’s systems accepted the new power core without any problems. Red stepped back, watching as Groove’s colour gradually returned to a normal shade, and then turned his attention to Arcee, deep relief evident on his face. “I think we did it, Arcee.” Then he laughed – a triumphant, nervous laugh – and she smiled back at him as all the tension and worry that had built up within her own systems was finally allowed release.

“Is he okay? Can I speak to him?” Streetwise’s concerned voice distracted their reverie.

Red slowly turned back to face him, properly acknowledging the tough Protectobot for the first time since he’d made the emergency call a little over half hour ago. “Uh…” he began, still caught up in the emotion of it all. “Yeah, I think he’s going to be fine.” He paused in reflection before answering Streetwise again. “Oh, he won’t be conscious for a while yet, though.” Then he looked to Arcee again and smiled. “I don’t want to wake him too soon. Give his systems a chance to recover.”

Arcee, still smiling warmly, nodded in understanding. “Great work, you two,” she said in encouragement.

* * *

After several hours spent covering a large portion of inner city Binaltech, the Decepticons managed to track down just the femme they were looking for. They had eventually picked up her Cybertronian energy signature, despite the fact that she had made a simple modification to its frequency in an effort to prevent anyone from tracking the signal. Astro, who had found a way to demodulate it, was able to read her original signature and consequently pinpoint her location.

Not surprisingly, they found her sitting inside one of Binaltech’s many exotic refuelling outlets.

“Good. She’s alone.” Astro glanced towards the establishment, tracking the femme with his internal sensors. “Though, she’s transmitting some kind of message.”

Rook, standing by Astro’s side as per usual, looked up at him. “Can you intercept the message?”

Astro shook his head. “No, but it’s not important.” He glanced around at the other Decepticons until his gaze settled upon the blue and black jet. “Alright. She’s all yours.”

Dirge nodded solemnly. He had mentally practiced what he was about to do many times over during the last two hours, from the moment the eight of them had settled upon the details of their plan. Whilst he hadn’t been overly thrilled in having been nominated by his team mates to play this particular role in their scheme, he hadn’t outright refused it, either. In fact, in a way he was rather looking forward to it.

Without another word, Dirge stepped through the entrance to the establishment and disappeared inside.

* * *

Brawn, Bumblebee, Cliffjumper and Gears had been sorting and stacking medical and related supplies inside the receiving and dispatch annex of Iacon’s maintenance and repair bay for well over an hour. They had kept relatively quiet for the most part as they concentrated upon their task, until they were almost done.

“Brawn?” Bumblebee’s voice broke the silence.

“Yeah?” Brawn replied without looking up.

“Do you remember that night at Macaddam’s? You know, when you got over-energized?”

Brawn looked up slowly, while Gears let out a low groan and answered. “Doesn’t he do that every night?” he said wryly.

“Do you remember what you told us? About being a mini-bot?” Bumblebee continued.

After a brief pause in reflection, Brawn returned to the container of spare relays he had been putting away on a shelf. “Nope.”

“Well, I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately, and I honestly believe that it’s not all as bad as you think,” Bumblebee informed him, unperturbed.

Brawn sighed, stepping away from the shelf. “Well, good for you, Bumblebee. You can believe whatever you want to believe.” He turned to the other mini-bots. “Alright, fellas, looks like I’m done here.”

Cliffjumper rolled the last oil barrel off the transport platform and straightened. “That’s all the oil from the last shipment,” he declared, then turned and walked over to join Brawn.

“That’s a lot of oil. More than we need,” Brawn said inquisitively, holding an elbow in one hand and his chin underneath the other.

Gears looked up from the data pad he was holding to offer his observations. “Ever since we’ve pooled our resources with the Neutrals, our inventory has more than doubled.” As he spoke the green light on the access panel beside the double doors activated, and the doors slid open. All four mini-bots turned to see who had arrived.

The tall frame of a black and red Autobot appeared in the entranceway. When Brawn realized who it was, he became antagonistic. “What are _you_ doing here? How’d you get the access code?”

Sideswipe walked into the room and hit the panel button to close the doors. “You’d better watch your attitude, small fry. Don’t forget I still outrank you.” He wasn’t about to forget their little confrontation outside the Command Center so easily.

“Who are you calling ‘small fry’? Why I oughtta–” The demolitions mini-bot was easily riled, and he took a step toward Sideswipe with a fist held high.

Gears placed a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, don’t get your gears out of whack, Brawn.”

Brawn hesitated, sneering at the Autobot warrior. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t call security,” he threatened.

Sideswipe showed no sign of being intimidated. “How about – because I _am_ security,” he answered smugly.

All four mini-bots were shocked by his response. Bumblebee, who had been helping Gears with the inventory, stopped what he was doing to join them.

“Security? I thought you were officially dismissed?” Cliffjumper asked in puzzlement.

“ _Was_ ,” Sideswipe emphasized, as he moved across to a shelving unit that contained various medical instrumentation and started to search for something.

“So, you’ve been reinstated?” Bumblebee asked, amazed.

“Uh-huh,” he replied simply.

“Wow – congratulations, Sideswipe, welcome back!”

“Thanks, Bumblebee.”

Brawn, however, still had his reservations, not to mention a personal dislike for the Autobot warrior. “Oh, yeah?” He paused, tracking the mech’s every move. “Did Prowl reinstate you?”

Sideswipe found the item he had been looking for; a reducing field micro-beamer. It was a specialist tool that was mainly used in medical procedures to clear out unwanted code that had been injected into an Autobot’s self repair system by a virus. “Nope. Sentinel Prime, actually.” He walked back across the room, ignoring their looks of surprise and uncertainty, and hit the button to open the doors. After stepping back outside, he turned back to face them, hand resting on the access panel. “See you around,” he said, as the doors slid closed again.

* * *

Dirge took the empty seat opposite Thunderblast without waiting for an invite and leaned across the small table to get closer to her, hoping she would be intimidated by his boldness. “Well, well, isn’t this a pleasant surprise?” he greeted, using the same phrasing she’d used at the exchange hub earlier that day.

She sat up straight with a start, quickly deactivated her com link. “Oh, it’s you again. What do you want? Can’t you see I’m busy?”

Dirge shrugged. “We should talk.”

Thunderblast gave him a pout. “Oh, yeah? What have we got to talk about?” She glanced around warily, but did not see any of his cohorts – as far as she could tell there were no other mechs inside the small outlet but the regular patrons, minding their own business. “How did you find me?”

Dirge spoke with an air of mystique, his voice smooth and seductive. “You were easy enough to track down.”

His response seemed to worry her somewhat, though she tried not to let it show. Instead, she sighed in annoyance. “What the slag do you want to talk about? I’m a very busy femme, you know.”

“Yeah, I bet you are,” Dirge drawled, smirking. She tried to look uninterested in him, but her veneer was thin. He glanced over his shoulder for a brief moment, as if he were alerted to something. “Look, I couldn’t help but notice you were being followed earlier.” He glanced around again in all directions. “I think you’re safe now… for the time being, anyway. You just gotta stay low for a little while.”

She tried to keep up a brave front as her gaze darted in all directions, not entirely convinced that he was telling the truth but not wanting to put his word of caution to the test, either. “And why should I believe you?”

Dirge said nothing straight away as he watched her reaction; she was growing more uncomfortable with every passing astro-second. “You don’t have to believe me – it’s up to you,” he said, shrugging.

“Look, if this is about Comet – I _swear_ on Primus I have no idea where he is!” she blurted.

Dirge feigned puzzlement. “Comet? Nah,” he replied, shaking his head dismissively.

This made her stop and tilt her head questioningly. “Then… what is it that you want from me? I mean, you don’t honestly expect me to believe that a Decepticon like you would go to all the trouble of finding me just to make sure I’m safe? I wasn’t sparked yesterday, you know.” When he didn’t offer her a reply, she tried once more, watching him intently. “Would you at least tell me where the rest of your Decepti-pals are?”

The conehead grimaced. “Why do you need to know?”

“I don’t,” she said, a mischievous smile now playing upon her lips. “Not really. I just don’t think that you would have come here on your own. You don’t look like the loner type,” she added, her optics roaming dreamily over his frame.

But Dirge would not be fooled by her wiles, though he continued to play her. “Yeah? You think you can fix that for me?”

Thunderblast burst out laughing, and he forced a rare smile. Then she bit her lower lip, not entirely trusting his motives just yet. “Well, what if you’re not _my_ type?”

The Decepticon jet shrugged. “Oh, I’m sure I can make it worth your while.” She giggled at his response, and he hinted suggestively toward the exit. “Come on, we should talk somewhere a little more private.”

She hesitated for a brief instant, then jumped from her seat and followed him out, curiosity finally getting the better of her.

* * *

Sideswipe stared down at the offline Protectobot, grasping the small, precision medical instrument in one hand. Groove seemed at peace, content in his own private world, and for a brief instant he wished that he could trade places with him, even after what he must have experienced during the night of his attack. At least Groove’s life had been saved – thanks to his recently restored systems link, which could not have waited much longer – and he would soon be reunited with his team mates when he was brought back online.

_‘I know… you were only trying to look out for me, and I get that, I really do… and I probably shouldn’t have said those things to you. Although you should know that I didn’t mean any of it, and… and I’m sorry. You’ll always be my brother, no matter what.’_

The memory of Sunstreaker’s holo image flooded into his processor with a burst of emotion and he flinched, resisting the urge to turn and run out of the med bay and to simply disappear, leaving Iacon behind forever. He was well aware of the strong possibility that perhaps Sentinel had lied to him, was manipulating him into doing what he wanted – but was he prepared to take that chance and risk his brother’s life?

The answer was no. Sentinel may have very well told him the truth, and he couldn’t simply ignore it.

“Sideswipe?” A gentle voice called his name from somewhere close by, but it did not register through his audial processors the first time. “Sideswipe?” He was jolted out of his thoughts with a start. “Oh, I’m sorry – I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Hey, Arcee.” He looked across and smiled at her, though it felt strained. “Congratulations,” he added, indicating towards Groove with a tilt of his head. “When’s he coming back online?”

“Well, Red wants to keep him here a while longer. A couple more mega cycles at most, I’d say.” She hesitated, sensing his tension. He seemed guarded. “You know… we’ve been worried about you. The way you’d just left – we didn’t know where you were.” When he did not give her a reply, she added, “Or whether you were okay or not.”

“Yeah, I’m fine…” he said, then trailed off on his own, private train of thought, looking away again.

“Oh, listen – the rest of the gang will be arriving soon. They want to be here for Groove when we bring him back online, you know? Help him readjust to things. Answer any questions he might have. He’ll probably want to know what happened to him,” Arcee explained, and Sideswipe simply nodded in acknowledgment. “You’re welcome to join us, of course.”

He turned to her again, studying her petite features, her piercing blue optics. “Uh… thanks, Arcee, but no thanks. I’ve got some stuff I gotta do.”

“Oh.” She looked back at him, concerned. “Well, sure. That’s okay. I understand.” She smiled, and he smiled back at her with that same, forced smile. “Well, I’d better be going. I’ve got to help Red with some scheduled data backups. Let me know if you need anything, okay?” He didn’t reply, so she smiled once more and started heading for the repair bay’s double doors, but stopped to turn back one more time. “Oh, by the way, congratulations yourself! I heard you got reinstated!” she said, waving, before walking out of the bay and disappearing down the hall.

“Yeah, thanks,” he said flatly. Though he was alone once more, he wouldn’t be for long.

One breem later, Sentinel Prime appeared in the doorway. He was so quiet that Sideswipe was not alerted to his presence until he had spoken. “Do you have it?”

Sideswipe did not turn around to face the former Prime. “Yeah, I got it.”

“Good. Place it beside the Protectobot.” Sideswipe did as he was told and placed the micro-beamer he’d retrieved from temporary storage down on a table beside Groove’s med berth. Then he remained motionless, awaiting Sentinel’s next instructions. He received them almost immediately. “Leave now. Be ready when I call for you again.”

Without speaking a word, Sideswipe stepped away from Groove and headed straight for the med bay doors. He deliberately tried to keep his gaze diverted away from Sentinel Prime’s optics as he walked past him on his way out, but was stopped when Sentinel unexpectedly grabbed hold of him with both hands.

“Oh. There’s one more thing…” Sentinel said in a low voice, releasing his grip on the warrior almost immediately, who had to force himself to look up and meet the former Prime’s gaze; Sentinel’s powerful, imposing presence was a sombre reminder of just what kind of a mech Sideswipe was dealing with. Sentinel extended a hand towards him, revealing a small vial containing a bright green powder. “Here, take it.”

He continued to stare at the former Prime’s optics, and then his gaze gradually moved down until it came to rest upon the vial. He picked it up and studied it, his impassive expression masking deep, troubled emotions.

“I assume you know what this is?” Sentinel asked, and Sideswipe replied with a small nod. “Good. Think of it as a small… incentive. Now, go.”

Sideswipe’s hand closed around the vial, and then he continued on his way out of the med bay in silence without glancing back.

* * *

Dirge seemed to be in no hurry as he led the way to a low-key dwelling complex, located in an outer region of northern Binaltech, with Thunderblast in tow.

Dirge had kept the location a mystery during their journey; he had insisted that the fewer anyone knew about the place, the better – in fact he’d told her that, as an added precaution, not even his own team mates knew of its existence. He had also told her that there was no chance that anyone would be able to track them to it. She still had her doubts, of course, though she’d eventually given up asking about it.

Thunderblast stepped off the elevator platform that had taken them one level down, and had to partly retract her alt mode hull wings in order to comfortably fit through the narrow passageway that opened up before them. “Are you sure we haven’t been followed?”

The Decepticon remained silent, patiently leading the way ahead until he came to a stop in front of a closed door. “Sure, I’m sure. This is it,” he said, and then activated the access panel to let them in.

“ _Wait–_!” Thunderblast reached her hand out to grasp Dirge’s forearm. “Look, I don’t know if this is really such a great idea, after all.”

“Why, are you afraid?” Dirge taunted.

“Um, no… no, of course not,” she defended, not wanting the tall seeker to think that she felt intimidated by him in any way, and casually retracted her hand.

The door slid open, and Dirge indicated for her to go ahead. “Come on.” He waited patiently as she stepped into the room and then followed her inside, closing the door after him. He activated the overhead lighting, and watched as Thunderblast studied the small quarters, moving slowly around the space as she did so. It was furnished with its own energon dispenser, lounge area and recharging berth. A stack of data pads and various precision instruments filled a nearby shelf, while a screen, set into one wall, displayed an image of their home planet. She turned her attention back to the Decepticon jet, suitably pleased.

“So, these are your private quarters, huh?” she asked, intrigued.

Dirge shrugged, walked over to the dispenser and filled two canisters with high-grade. “You could say that.” Making his way back to her, he held out one of the canisters, which she accepted graciously. She was starting to relax.

“So, Dirge… what’s a handsome mech like you doing on Alternity City, anyway?” she probed, taking a seat in the lounge area while beckoning for him to join her.

He slowly walked around to sit beside her, placing his canister down on the end table. “I’m here on official business.”

“Ooh, official business?” she repeated playfully. “Tell me more.”

“What’s there to tell?” he replied nonchalantly.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said, drawing circles with one finger around the rim of her canister. “Like, maybe… what is it that you _really_ want to tell me, Dirge?” She downed her energon in a few gulps and placed the empty canister down on the table beside his one.

“Like I said, you were being followed.” It looked as though he wanted to say something more but was having some trouble vocalizing it. “And, besides…” he added as an after-thought.

“‘And, besides’ what, Dirge-y?” she pressed encouragingly, and smiled at him in admiration. “You know you can tell Thunderblast _any_ thing,” she enticed, her hand gently caressing his forearm.

He sighed, and tried hard not to cringe in front of her. “Uh…” He cleared his vocal unit, resisted the urge to push her hand away. “I, uh…”

“Mmhmm?”

“If you tell anyone, Thunderblast, I swear I’m going to–” he started, but Thunderblast pressed a finger to his lips.

“Shhh… your secret is safe with me. I _promise_.” She was nudging him now and pressing herself against his arm, still caressing it.

He cleared his vocalizer again and spoke in a low voice. “You, uh… you – really are the femme of my dreams.” Uttering these words to Thunderblast had proven to be a much more difficult exercise than he’d first anticipated, but it got him the desired response.

She widened her optics in delight, and then giggled gleefully. Staring back at him in satisfaction, she wondered why she’d never noticed his attraction towards her before, and made a promise to herself that she would definitely make up for lost time. “Tell me, Dirge, what’s your fancy, hm?”

He feigned naivety, wanting to stave off her advances for as long as he possibly could – at least until the highly unstable compound he’d slipped into her energon drink had taken effect. “My… fancy? What do you mean?”

She looked at him quizzically, but then giggled again. “You know, your fancy… hot linking, power core combining, spark bonding… you name it.”

“Oh.” He rubbed his chin in thought, wondering how best to respond to her. He did not particularly fancy sharing any kind of experience with Thunderblast, whether it involved hot linking or not, but he couldn’t tell her that – at least, not just yet. “Uh, actually…”

But only a few astro-seconds later Dirge was spared the awkwardness as Thunderblast slipped gently into his arms, mercifully offline.

* * *

Sentinel took careful, deliberate strides as he approached Groove’s berth. Making sure he was alone, he picked up the micro-beamer from where Sideswipe had left it for him on the berth-side table.

Moving around to one of the med bay’s terminals beside the berth, he inserted the device into a small port and accessed its control program with a high level clearance code, then input some commands. Once this was done he deleted the relevant log file, exited the control program and retrieved the micro-beamer.

He activated the small device, watching as the precision probe protracted from its casing, and then carefully leaned over Groove’s off-lined form, reaching down to access a port behind the Autobot’s black helm. He inserted the micro-beamer into the port to allow its flexible probe to automatically extend and seek out Groove’s memory module. Once it had found and locked onto its target, the device initiated the process of collapsing the module’s information field.

Sentinel released his grip on the device, stepped back and waited for the operation to complete. He only had a small window of opportunity; the other Protectobots were due to arrive soon, as would the attending medical officers who would be overseeing Groove’s activation – but less than one quarter of a mega cycle was all the time he needed.

*

Half an hour later, and Iacon’s maintenance and repair bay had become a hub of activity within the Command Complex. A number of Groove’s closest friends and allies had gathered, forming a wide circle around his med berth; the Protectobots Hot Spot, Streetwise, Blades and First Aid; also Optimus Prime, Ironhide, Bluestreak, Hound and Prowl; as well as Ratchet, Red Alert and Arcee, in their official capacity as the attending medical officers. Sentinel Prime was also present for the occasion, removed from the crowd and watching with his arms crossed, expressionless. Other than the former Prime, each and every bot in the room was here to share in the joyous occasion when Groove would finally awaken to rejoin their ranks as a fully functional Autobot – something which had seemed almost impossible only one day earlier. The energy in the room was tangible as excitement and expectations were high, though no one dared utter a word.

Red Alert would guide the procedure, which was simple enough and wouldn’t take more than a minute or two to complete; check the patient’s vital signs, perform a routine systems check and then, if all indicators were within normal operating parameters, reactivate the patient by transmitting a pulsed boost signal along his master control pathway.

Arcee checked the monitor readout carefully, and then checked it again just to be certain. Even though Groove’s systems had shown stability for several hours already, she wanted to be absolutely sure that the activation proceeded smoothly and without any problems. It also helped that Groove was surrounded by those who cared about him, ready to offer support and encouragement as soon as he was brought back online. “Alright, we’re good to go, Red.”

Red Alert exchanged a deeply purposeful glance with Arcee, and then with Ratchet, who stood by watching them, though he would not interfere with the process unless he was needed. He bent over Groove, opened his chest panel and connected a pulse gun to the master control port, which would transfer and distribute the pulsed signal to where it needed to go. Red Alert hit the trigger, sending a jolt of directed energy into Groove’s systems. After a few astro-cycles, he hit it again, disconnected the gun, and closed up Groove’s outer armour plating. Then he stepped back to stand beside Arcee, joining the rest of the Autobots as they intently kept their gaze fixed upon the Protectobot, waiting expectantly for him to demonstrate the first signs of his return to the conscious world.

Over the next two minutes, Groove’s optics increased in brightness and intensity, and his face seemed to glow with a strong, vibrant energy, the very life force flooding back into his systems to fill every extremity and every component of his physical structure. Then he let out a low groan, his head turning slightly to look up at the anxious faces of his fellow Protectobots. “What… happened?”

Arcee couldn’t help but smile as she tried to hold back the overwhelming surge of emotions – feelings of empathy and relief that welled up from the center of her being. She stood patiently by and watched as the Protectobots reconnected with their team mate, exchanging words of gratitude and encouragement and sharing in the joy of his simply being alive.

After several minutes, Optimus Prime quietly approached Groove’s berth to stand beside Hot Spot, the leader of the Protectobots, who respectfully made room for him. Optimus gave him a courteous nod in return, but did not immediately approach or speak to Groove, who slowly sat up on his berth, his closest friends by his side, to look up at the Autobot Commander.

“Optimus,” he said in greeting.

Optimus moved to stand in front of him. “It is good to have you back, Groove. On behalf of us all.”

Groove gave him a gentle smile. “Thanks. It’s good to be back.” He glanced around at his fellow Autobots, and wondered why they were all here in the med bay, crowded around him. The next few words he spoke would confuse some and take others by surprise, though they would please the former Prime, who stood quietly in the background. “Did something happen to me?”

Optimus glanced over at Red Alert, Ratchet and Arcee, who had come to stand beside him, though their expressions told him that they were just as concerned as he was. He turned back to Groove, his voice gentle yet firm. “You mean you don’t remember anything at all?”

Groove hesitated, holding a hand to his helm, and then shook his head. “No… sorry, Optimus. I don’t remember a thing.”

Listening in behind the group of gathered Autobots, Sentinel Prime nodded his approval and satisfaction, a small smile appearing on his face. Then he turned and walked out of the med bay unnoticed.

* * *

She awoke with a start, her vision blurred and with a headache that was almost unbearable. Groaning, she recalled her encounter with Dirge at the refuelling outlet, followed by his invitation back to his private quarters, and realized that she could not be experiencing the after-effects of having been over-energized because, as far as she could remember, she’d only had that one canister. Once her optical sensors had adjusted sufficiently for her vision to return to normal, she tried to sit up and realized that she couldn’t.

Startled, she also realized, in a moment of rude awakening, that she was still in Dirge’s private quarters, strapped to a chair with energy restraints. “Why you slag sucking, double-crossing, low life slime bucket!” she yelled out at the top of her vocal unit, initial shock turning quickly into unbridled anger as she struggled against her bonds. “How could I have been so _stupid_?! And to think I _ever_ wanted anything to do with _you,_ of all mechs! Let me go, or I’ll have you hunted down and handed over to the High Commander! Do you hear me? _Dirge_?!” She was alone in the room, and while she wasn’t picking up any energy signatures she sensed that, somehow, her captor was still very much close by, and could probably hear her. The sound of faint movement caused her to stop and listen, and she tried to turn her head to look behind her but the restraints held her helm firmly against the chair. “Dirge? Dirge! Hello? Why don’t you show yourself, you coward?!” Then, as much to her relief as to her alarm, a mech stepped into view and stood looking down at her, arms crossed in front of him. When she realized who it was an astro-second later, feelings of both panic and dread swept over her.

“Dirge was only carrying out orders,” Astro said. “And, I must say, he did so very well.”

“What the _hell_ do you want?” she managed to say, her voice wavering with trepidation. Two other mechs quietly stepped into view to take their place beside Astro, and she groaned and tried to turn her head away, not wanting to meet Dirge’s gaze. The third mech, standing on Astro’s left, was a little smaller than the average-sized Decepticon, and she recalled seeing him once before at one of Binaltech’s many subway terminals, though she had no idea of his name.

“I think you already know what I want,” Astro replied.

Thunderblast exhaled sharply, her frustration and total contempt for this particular mech no secret. “I _told_ you! I have no idea where Comet is! Now, let me go!”

Astro dropped his arms by his sides. “Not so fast. I believe you.”

A look of puzzlement crossed her face, anger momentarily cast aside. “You – you do?”

He gave her an affirmative tilt of his head, and motioned with a casual wave of his hand. “Dirge, I think we can release her now,” he said to the seeker, who nodded and then moved towards the femme. She remained quiet as Dirge deactivated the restraints that held her to the chair, a small hint of a satisfied smirk on his face, and she realized somberly that whatever words or sentiments he had confided to her when he’d first brought her here had all been lies.

Once she was freed, Dirge stepped away and Astro sat down on the lounge chair opposite her, leaning across with one elbow on the arm rest. He continued to watch her, waiting for her to speak first.

“So… does this mean I’m free to go, then?” she asked, slowly rising from her chair and rubbing a hand along both her hull wings as if she were dusting them off. She strongly doubted that they would just let her walk out of here.

Astro shrugged, answered her casually. “Well, that depends.”

“On what?” she asked with caution.

“On how much you value your life.”

Thunderblast frowned, placed her hands on her hips in a defensive gesture. “Now you listen here, Astro, I have a strong mind to let my boss know where you are – and believe me, he’s not going to stop until he’s sent his whole fleet after you. Then you’re going to be _really_ sorry that any of you ever thought you could cross me!”

Astro did not respond to her threat; rather, he allowed her to vent her anger in full before finally sitting up straight, peering up at her. “Are you done?” When she huffed, he continued. “Good. Now, this is how it’s going to work. You’re going to contact Jhiaxus and tell him that Megatron is offering to make an exchange for Comet.”

The femme looked at him in shock. “You’ve _got_ to be kidding me?” she exclaimed incredulously.

“Nope,” he said, shaking his head.

“An exchange for Comet?” she repeated, glancing at the other two Decepticons in the room as if they could explain Astro’s ridiculous demand. “In exchange… for _what_?”

“Not ‘what’. _Who_ ,” he corrected her. She slowly turned back to meet his gaze, and her entire frame froze. Then, aware of what she must have thought in that moment, he relieved her concerns. “Don’t worry; Jhiaxus isn’t interested in you.”

She let out a slow exhale before venturing to ask. “Okay. Then, _who_?”

Astro clasped his hands together, keeping his attention focused upon the femme. “Me.”

She stared at him in disbelief for a moment, then turned away, one hand on hip and the other held upturned in mid-air. “Okay. You’re crazy.” No one spoke, and she spun back around to face the blue Cybertronian once more. “I mean – okay. First of all, even if I _knew_ how to get in contact with Jhiaxus… why the slag would I ever agree to help _you_?”

Once again, Astro replied with a calm assuredness that Rook had come to know of him. “And… secondly?”

“Secondly?” She exhaled in exasperation. “Secondly – how do you even know that I won’t try to double-cross you?”

Astro smiled. “Getting in contact with Jhiaxus shouldn’t be a problem. I’m sure that Sentinel Prime will be happy to help, once you’ve told him about our offer of exchange. As for why you would agree to do as I’ve asked? Same answer as for why you won’t try to double-cross me. You see, while you were offline I took the liberty of making a few enhancements to some of your internal coding. From now on, we’ll be able to track your every move, intercept every transmission you send and receive. Also, as an added precaution… if you don’t do _exactly_ as I tell you, your autonomous control system will shut down. And if that happens, your main processor will enter into critical cascade failure – which, as you know, will cause you to become permanently off-lined.”

Thunderblast stared at him in utter shock, and had to slowly sit back down in her chair as the sordid news fully sank in. “But… I mean… how _could_ you?”

Astro leaned back in his seat, gave her a small shrug. “You have nothing to worry about, as long as you do what I tell you.”

It was several long moments before Thunderblast finally spoke up again. “Comet is really that important to you?” When Astro didn’t respond she inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly. “Well, you’re not going to give me much choice, are you?” Another pause. “Will you at least do something for _me_ , Astro?”

He glanced briefly towards Dirge and Rook as he considered her request, then turned back to her again. “What is it?”

“After this is over and you have your Comet, promise me that I’ll _never_ have anything to do with any of you, _ever_ again!”

Astro regarded her calmly, amused. “Well, I can’t promise you that,” he answered, “but I’ll do my best.”

* * *

When Megatron returned to Darkmount after a couple of mega cycles, accompanied by Laserbeak, the Decepticon mini spy, he did not have good news to share. “Sentinel Prime is already in Iacon,” he informed the other Decepticons, as Laserbeak returned to Soundwave’s chest compartment. “It is only a matter of time now,” the Decepticon leader concluded. They were all gathered in the control room, one level below the surface. Jazz was with them.

“Will the others on Alternity City be returning to Cybertron?” Scrapper said.

Megatron nodded. “They have been recalled and are due to return, though it is not easy for them to get in contact with us.”

The room fell quiet as each mech contemplated the current state of affairs, and the part they all played in it. Jazz watched them intently and, whilst he was grateful for having been allowed to stay, nevertheless he couldn’t help but feel a little uncomfortable. Perhaps it was because he, as an Autobot, represented their long-time adversary. Or perhaps it was simply that he wasn’t sure how best he could help. Perhaps it was because of both but, either way, watching them now he became aware of an undeniable vulnerability about them.

He was probably the only Autobot in a long time who had been able to get this close to the Decepticons and, being given the chance to observe them first-hand, he’d started seeing them in a way that he had never expected, had not counted upon. They were far from the cruel and domineering enemy that the rest of the Autobots had always accused them of being. Of course, there had been many encounters in the past, during the Great War but particularly during the Great Devastation, when no mercy had been shown to Autobots by Decepticons – however, Jazz realized, _those_ Decepticons were an entirely different breed to Megatron and his loyal followers.

In the short time that he’d spent in their company, Jazz had noticed camaraderie among these Decepticons, but also a strong sense of purpose and belonging, and while this revelation should have surprised him, somehow it didn’t. He recalled that incident near the dividing ridge in Kaon during the Great War, when his life and that of his companion’s had been saved by two Decepticon jets, and was reassured by it, encouraged by it.

“Well… what about those in the Quadrant?” It was Scavenger who had spoken. He sounded uncertain. He did not elaborate further but, other than Jazz, they all seemed to know what he was talking about.

“He’s right. It may be their last chance,” Mixmaster agreed, though he, too, sounded nervous.

The Decepticons all looked expectantly at Megatron, who did not answer them straight away; he also seemed troubled by whatever it was that they were discussing, and Jazz sensed a certain amount of heavy-heartedness in the room that had not been there before.

“If we’re going to get ‘em back at all,” Scrapper said, tentatively, “we probably should do it sooner rather than later, before the Neutrals destroy the Detention Banks.”

Jazz looked across at Scrapper upon mention of the Detention Banks, and began to realize what they must be planning. Located in a heavily guarded, yet isolated sector deep below Iacon known only as Quadrant Epsilon, the Detention Banks contained prisoners of war who had been condemned and sent there for deactivation. While many of the prisoners were kept in stasis, others were not so lucky. “The Detention Banks?”

They all glanced over at him, and for a moment he wondered whether his interest in their affairs was unwelcomed, but then Megatron answered him. “Yes. Towards the end of the Last Great War, many of us were captured and sent there by the Alliance.”

“But you don’t know for sure that they’re still alive?” The question was a difficult one to ask as Jazz felt their collective sadness; the thought of many of their friends being kept at the Detention Banks, not knowing whether they were still alive or not must have been a heavy burden on them all. He could not even begin to imagine how he might cope in the same situation.

Scrapper shook his head sadly. “No, but we have to try.”

Jazz redirected the conversation back to a previous track. “What makes you say the Neutrals are going to destroy the Banks?”

Megatron replied. “Once Sentinel Prime gains complete control, he will seek to destroy each one of us… until the Decepticons are no more.”

“Hold on an astro-sec – you say Sentinel’s going to take full control as if it’s a guaranteed thing,” he said in puzzlement, trying to make sense of Sentinel’s alleged motives. “I mean for starters, how could he even begin to pull something like that off?”

It felt as if the Decepticon leader could see right through him as he held his gaze steady. “We have known about a planned takeover by the High Council for some time now, but it is only recently that we have learned the extent of Sentinel Prime’s involvement. The fact that he is here, now, in Iacon only serves to confirm our suspicions.”

Jazz turned his gaze away from him. He couldn’t help but feel betrayed by the Alliance, and it hit him now all at once. If what Megatron had just told him was true, then there’d be no telling what might happen next. He knew how much Optimus trusted Sentinel Prime, as his long time mentor and friend, and also knew, probably better than anyone else, how much the Autobot leader would be devastated should Sentinel suddenly turn against him and the rest of the Autobots. The likelihood of a Neutral takeover seemed utterly absurd – impossible, even – though, unlike Optimus, Jazz was able to confront the possibility without being blinded by the same level of emotional attachment and trust that Optimus demonstrated towards Sentinel, no matter how ludicrous it all seemed. Furthermore, Jazz could see no reason why Megatron would be lying. “I’ve got to warn Optimus,” he said after several long moments, his voice barely above a whisper.

Megatron could clearly see Jazz’s difficulty in fully accepting the reality of the situation, though he didn’t blame him. Sentinel was generally very well liked amongst the Autobots, and his reputation for wisdom and strong power of influence over others far preceded him. Still, it would not serve Jazz or anyone else if he were to be anything less than truthful. “It may already be too late for that,” he said. “You know as well as I do how stubborn he can be.”

As much as Jazz didn’t want to hear it, he knew that his words were true. If there had been any chance at all of relaying a warning to Optimus before Sentinel had arrived in Iacon, there was virtually none now. Nevertheless, Jazz needed to believe that there was still hope. “Still, I’ve got to try,” he said, echoing Scrapper’s sentiments. He glanced around the room at the Decepticons, who all looked back at him intently, as if he were some curious puzzle that they hadn’t quite figured out yet. He knew exactly how they felt about their missing friends who, as far as any of them knew, may already be lost to them. “Tell you what,” he said at last, carefully considering his words. “I’ll do what I can to help you get into the Detention Banks…” he began, and then trailed off. He knew that the Decepticons would have a much better chance of succeeding in their plan with his unique knowledge as a special operative. He also knew that if the Decepticons had any inclination at all to help stop Sentinel Prime in return, they would do so. He did not need to say anything.

After giving the matter some thought, Megatron replied. “Very well.”

* * *

When Optimus had agreed to speak privately with Sentinel Prime inside the main conference room he did not, in his wildest imaginings, ever suspect what his old friend was about to say. It was completely beyond belief, and entirely unexpected.

“Optimus,” Sentinel began, looking directly into the Autobot leader’s optics. He did not offer Optimus a seat, nor did he offer him any words of congratulations for Groove’s recent recovery. “An urgent matter has come to my attention, and I believe it only fair that I speak with you first and hear about it from you directly, so that you may be given an opportunity to explain the situation… if there is any truth to it at all.”

“What is this about, Sentinel?” Optimus asked, completely unaware of what his former mentor was alluding to.

Sentinel inhaled deeply, pausing to collect his thoughts. “There’s no easy way to ask you this, Optimus, as I simply cannot believe that you would be capable of treason.”

Optimus offered no hint of an emotional reaction. “Treason?”

“Yes.” Sentinel turned away from him and paced the length of the room. “It is my understanding that you recently gave all Autobots the order to cease carrying out the Council’s directive: to search and apprehend all remaining Decepticons on Cybertron.” He paused for a long moment, hanging his head as he looked down towards the floor in deep thought, and to Optimus it felt like an eternity passed before Sentinel spoke again. But, eventually he did. “Is it true, Optimus?” he asked softly, turning slowly to face him again.

The Autobot leader tore his gaze away from Sentinel’s questioning optics, and slowly took a seat in one of the empty conference room chairs. “I had no other choice… my team had been captured by the Decepticons. Their lives would have been in danger had I not agreed to Megatron’s terms for their release.”

“Then, it is true?”

“Yes. It is true,” Optimus finally admitted, but did not elaborate further. No matter what would happen afterwards, he would never regret that decision.

“Optimus, do you realize what you have done? Not only have you refused a directive from the Cybertronian High Council, but you have also placed me in an _extremely_ difficult position.” For the first time since he’d arrived in Iacon, Sentinel’s voice carried with it a tone of underlying anger as he spoke to Optimus – one in which he did not try too hard to hide.

“I did it to save the lives of my fellow Autobots, but also the lives of many Neutrals–” Optimus started in defence, but was cut short when Sentinel suddenly burst out in unrestrained bitterness – a side of him that Optimus had rarely seen before.

“The Neutrals?! Any Neutral would gladly give up his own life in exchange for the death of a single Decepticon!” Sentinel’s optics glowered with an intense hatred, but then he seemed to regain his composure almost as quickly as his temper had flared. “Do you not understand, Optimus? I have no other choice now but to enforce the rules as set out by our Governance Agreement. Do you have _any_ idea what that allows me to do in this situation – what I _must_ do, as is not only my solemn duty but also my right?!”

The Autobot Commander remained steadfast in the face of his old friend’s unexpected resentment and anger. “I am aware of the Agreement, and I deeply regret that I have disappointed you… but you must also realize that the safety and well-being of those who are under my care is more important to me than anything.”

Sentinel studied him for a long moment before stepping closer, his steady gaze fixed upon the Prime. “So… does this mean that you will not rescind your order?”

After a few moments in serious thought, Optimus gave him his final answer. “I cannot.”

Sentinel straightened, his expression filled with consternation and utter regret. “Very well,” he replied, and then exited the room without another word.


	13. Chapter 13

The moment it became clear to the femmes that Double would not be returning for them, Chromia led Firestar and Moonracer out of the dedicated lounge area of _The Gambler’s Den_ and back out onto the city street. There was no sign of the doublecrossing Autobot or his team of hench-mechs anywhere.

“ _Grrrrr_! Just wait til I get my hands on him! First, I’m going to wring his neck, and then I’m going to–” Moonracer began, every bit as angry as she sounded now that her fear had dissipated.

“’Racer–” Chromia interjected.

“–make him wish he’d never laid an optic on Moonracer!”

“’Racer!”

Moonracer let out a sharp exhalation and frowned. “What?!” she replied in exasperation.

“I know you’re upset – we _all_ are – but it’s not going to help get Elita back, is it?” Chromia reminded her, taking charge of the situation as second in command of her crew.

Moonracer’s anger began to subside, and she asked the question that was on all their minds. “What are we going to do, Chromia? We have to get her back.”

The blue femme nodded in understanding, and took another look around the crowded city street, trying to think of what they should do next. Then she sighed. “She could be anywhere by now.”

Firestar offered her input. “Maybe we can ask Devcon for help? He would know this place quite well.”

Chromia considered her suggestion, but then she had another idea. “I think the best chance we have right now is to return to our base and try to detect Elita’s signature using our long range scanner.” She paused to catch Moonracer’s attention. “’Racer, how quickly will you be able to get our transmitter up and running?”

The green femme gave their situation some thought. She’d still need to source a new beam array, but then she remembered the five hundred credits she’d won when she first went to try her luck at _The Den_. She’d promised Elita that she would only risk fifty of her winnings for her second try, and she had kept her promise. “I still have four hundred and fifty credits! That should be more than enough to buy us the array,” she informed them, beaming with pride.

Chromia nodded in satisfaction. “Good.” Quickly glancing about to find her bearings, she pointed ahead. “There’s a large complex on one of the main streets further up. You can stop by and see if you can pick one up from there before we return to base. Come on, let’s go.” And with that, she led the way north through the bustling city square.

* * *

Walking through Hitec’s narrow streets left Sunstreaker with an undefinable sense of foreboding – as if something was watching them, invisible, lurking around every dark corner ready to jump out at them at any moment. He tried to shake off the feeling but couldn’t, so instead he tried to focus upon his companion and wondered why Comet seemed to be completely unafraid of anything, even now as they walked along a deserted alleyway under the cover of waning darkness – the only sources of light being the stars in the night sky and the faint glow of the main city district in the distance.

“Aren’t you worried about getting caught?” he ventured. Comet kicked an empty canister out of the way with his foot, but said nothing. The clanging sound that it made as it tumbled away from the alley and out of sight irritated the Autobot slightly. “I mean, if I were you–”

Comet turned to face him, his tone cold and harsh. “Well, it’s a good thing that you’re not me, then. Isn’t it?”

Sunstreaker was taken aback by Comet’s reaction. “Hey, I didn’t mean to upset you.” He couldn’t understand where the anger and antagonism was coming from, or why it had been directed at him, but the last thing he wanted to do was to get on the seeker’s wrong side. He was tired of being alone and only longed to return to Cybertron to be reunited with his fellow Autobots; but, more than anything else, he longed to see his brother again.

Comet hesitated for a moment before relenting, turning away slightly. “On Alternity City, worrying about anything will only get you killed. I can’t afford to worry.”

The Autobot looked out towards the eastern skyline, taking a few moments to contemplate their recent escape from the Hitec scrap metal recycling facility. He realized how lucky he was just to still be alive, despite everything that had happened to him, and he had Comet to thank for that. “Is that how you’ve managed to stay alive here for so long?”

Comet looked back at him. He studied the Autobot for a long moment before finally answering. “No,” he confessed. “The truth is… I should be dead already.”

“Why do you say that?” Sunstreaker was genuinely puzzled by his companion’s unexpected remark; whether Comet was aware of it or not, it was apparent he was a powerful Decepticon warrior who possessed both the know-how and the wherewithal to have beaten the odds.

“Isn’t it obvious?” The Decepticon shrugged. “I’ve got the Supremacists on my tail, not to mention half the bounty hunters in the quadrant, and that’s not even counting the doublecrossing scum bags I’ve managed to tick off on Alternity City.”

“I don’t get it.” Sunstreaker shook his head in puzzlement. “I mean, are you top of the black ops most wanted list or something?” When he received no immediate reply, he stared at Comet disbelievingly. “Comet… what did you _do_?”

“I told you – nothing.” Comet started walking again down the alley, leaving Sunstreaker wondering after him.

Whether the estranged seeker was telling the complete truth he really couldn’t say for sure, though whatever misdeed this Decepticon may or may not have committed, it essentially didn’t matter to him. He only wished that Comet would confide in him a little more – perhaps he just needed a little more time. “Hey, wait up.” Sunstreaker sprinted to catch up until he was walking beside him again. “Wait, so, what now?”

Comet slowed to a stop, then looked around in contemplation until he’d finally made his decision. “Do you know how to get to that relay station from here?”

“Relay station?” Sunstreaker looked at him oddly, and then shrugged. “Which relay station? I mean, there’re plenty of them around here–”

“The one where you got yourself caught,” Comet elucidated, cutting in. “The one where you saw deactivated Autobots?” Sunstreaker fell quiet; he was not too keen on revisiting that relay station again. “Well?”

“I, uh,” he hesitated. “Yeah, I know how to get there.”

“Good,” Comet said, waited for him expectantly. “Then, let’s go.”

The yellow Autobot remained where he was. “Would you at least tell me why you want to go there?”

Comet caught his gaze, noticing the Autobot’s uneasiness at his suggestion to revisit the relay station, so he softened his tone a little as he explained his reasoning. “I figure you’ll need solid evidence of what has been happening with the Alliance, once you return to Cybertron. Who would believe you without some undeniable proof to back your claim?”

Sunstreaker contemplated his sobering words, before finally responding. “I gotta admit, I haven’t thought that far ahead.” Comet was right; he would have a difficult time convincing anyone of Sentinel Prime’s acts of treason against the Autobots, especially Optimus Prime himself, if he were to make it back to Cybertron in one piece. “Why do you care, anyway?” he asked, genuinely curious, but then immediately regretted it, hoping that Comet would not take it the wrong way. “I mean…”

Comet seemed neither offended nor surprised by his query; on the contrary, he seemed to have expected it. “I don’t know _why_. I can’t remember.” His voice was low, almost a whisper, and Sunstreaker could tell that the seeker was deeply troubled by his odd loss of memory. Comet’s enigmatic past was something that had probably haunted him for longer than he would care to admit, though it was also something that appeared to be driving him, instinctively, ever onward.

Sunstreaker nodded empathically, then took a deep intake of air and indicated down the alley with a nod of his head. “Alright. Follow me,” he said, and the two of them began to walk down the alley together in silence.

* * *

Prowl found Optimus seated in one of the chairs in the conference room, a short time after Sentinel’s private talk with the Autobot leader. “Sir?” Optimus looked up at him but did not speak; instead he slowly rose from his seat and headed for the exit. Watching him go, Prowl followed him out and closed the door behind him.

Optimus did not expect to see a number of his loyal officers standing just outside in the adjacent communications center, waiting to see him. Among them were Prowl, Ratchet, Red Alert, Arcee, Ironhide, Trailbreaker, Hound, and Smokescreen, and they all shared mixed looks of concern and uncertainty; clearly, something was bothering them. He thought that he probably did not appear too happy to them, either. “It is good that I have you all here. There is something urgent that I need to discuss with you all – the sooner the better,” he began.

Ratchet stepped forward. “Good, because there’s something we need to discuss with you, too, Prime.”

Optimus nodded in acknowledgment, surveying all present. Sentinel Prime was nowhere to be seen. “Yes, Ratchet.” He turned to Prowl. “Contact the rest of the Autobots – as many as you can, and have them meet me here in one mega cycle.”

Prowl nodded, but then hesitated. “What about Sentinel?”

Optimus took a moment to reply, before cautiously shaking his head. “No.”

Prowl nodded again, but did not question him on it. As he began to do as asked, Sideswipe suddenly appeared behind them at the entrance to the communications center. He stopped short, appraising the group, his optics intense and alert.

“Ah, Sideswipe, I’ve been meaning to speak with you.” Ratchet gave Optimus a courteous nod before moving away from the rest of the group and heading towards the Autobot warrior. “Welcome back, by the way.”

Sideswipe ignored his greeting; instead he grabbed the chief medical officer’s shoulders with both hands. “Is he alright? Tell me!”

“Sideswipe, calm down, would you?” Ratchet gave him an annoyed look, and tried to free himself from the Autobot’s gasp, but it was unusually strong. “What is wrong with you? Let go of me.”

Sideswipe abruptly did as he was told, but then immediately continued with his line of questioning in an almost obsessive manner. “Tell me, is he alright?” Ratchet looked back at him questioningly, and when Optimus and Arcee walked over to join them Sideswipe only continued his plea. “Prime? Is he dead?”

“Sideswipe, you need to calm down. We want to help you.” Optimus exchanged glances with Ratchet, though he was just as perplexed at the Autobot’s odd behaviour as the medic was.

Ratchet tried again, this time grabbing a hold of Sideswipe’s forearm in an attempt to bring him back to his senses. “Sideswipe – now, listen to me. I want you to inhale, slowly and deeply.” Sideswipe hesitated, unsure, his pained expression clear for all to see. “Just do as I tell you… please.” Ratchet’s words started to sink in, albeit slowly, and Arcee’s gentle touch upon his arm seemed to suddenly calm him down even more. He drew in a long, deep cycle of air, then slowly exhaled, repeated the process a second time, and then a third. “Okay… good. Now, calmly, tell us what’s wrong. _Who_ is dead?”

Sideswipe’s frame shook, ever so slightly, and Ratchet performed a quick visual check on him without the Autobot’s awareness of what he was doing, discreetly looking him over with a steady, experienced optic and noting any physical changes, however subtle. “Groove!” he blurted out suddenly, obviously upset. “Is – is he okay?”

The Autobot’s Chief Medical Officer did not react to his emotional outburst. “Groove? Don’t worry about Groove, he’s fine. He doesn't remember what happened to him, but otherwise he’s doing just fine. Now, I want you to keep cycling air. That’s right, just focus on doing that. Good.” He glanced over at Arcee. “Arcee? Would you take over, please? Just… keep him calm. Then show him to my quarters. I’ll be there in just a breem.”

She nodded dutifully. “Sure, of course.” Then she focused her attention upon Sideswipe, as Ratchet stepped back to relinquish control of the situation to the pink and white femme.

As Sideswipe began to gradually calm down, he allowed Arcee to lead him back down the hallway and then down towards the private quarters area near the maintenance and repair bay. Once the two of them had disappeared out of sight and were sufficiently out of audio range, Ironhide broke the lingering silence. “What in the slag was that all about?”

“And, since when was Sideswipe so concerned about Groove’s wellbeing?” Smokescreen added.

Ratchet shook his head. “I don’t know, but I sure as hell intend to find out.”

*

Ratchet entered his quarters and then waited until the door slid quietly closed behind him before stepping forwards and taking his seat behind his desk. Arcee was seated opposite, with Sideswipe beside her. Ratchet nodded when she smiled empathically at him, indicating for her to leave him alone with the Autobot warrior. “Thanks, Arcee.”

“You’re welcome,” she said, then smiled warmly at Sideswipe, placing a hand on his forearm. He briefly returned her smile and watched as she left the room. Then he cast his gaze downwards, trying not to show his nervousness as he clenched his fists. He remained this way until Ratchet finally spoke.

“Feeling better?”

He hesitated, gave the medical officer a small shrug. “Yeah, sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Sideswipe.” Ratchet sighed and leaned back in his chair, trying to think of the best way to approach this rather delicate situation. There was much that needed to be said between them, much that still remained unspoken, yet all of that would have to wait. Right now, he needed to earn Sideswipe’s trust. “Look, whatever’s going on with you, I want to help.”

The red and black Autobot looked up suddenly, conviction evident upon his face. “You mean like the last time we spoke? What was it that you told me? Oh, yeah, that’s right – and I quote, ‘Come talk to me again when you’ve got your priorities back in order.’”

Ratchet frowned, held the Autobot’s gaze. “You’re right; I should have listened to you more. I was wrong. In fact, I was wrong about a lot of things back then. So if it means anything to you, I’m sorry.” Sideswipe’s demeanour seemed to change somewhat, and his shoulders relaxed slightly, but he said nothing. “I heard you’ve been granted a pardon. Congratulations.” Sideswipe remained motionless, and Ratchet cleared his vocal processor. He needed to get through to him, somehow, and decided that he’d just have to keep trying until he did. “You, uh, seemed very worried about Groove back there. Was there any reason for that?”

Sideswipe grimaced. “Is that a crime now, to be concerned about the safety of a fellow Autobot?”

“No, of course not. Look, I’m just going to be straight with you. The fact is… I’m just not so sure anymore that we can trust the damn Alliance. Sunstreaker, your brother – he may have been right all along. But, we…” he said, indicating the Autobots with a sweeping motion of his hand, “…we were all just too damned proud to see it.” There was an undeniable seriousness in his tone, yet he also sounded tired, as if worn out by many years of silent anguish. Nonetheless, his words seemed to draw Sideswipe’s full attention, and the warrior sat up straight, his gaze fixed upon the medical officer. Ratchet moved to retrieve something from his desk top, held out a data pad towards Sideswipe. “Here, take a look at this.”

Sideswipe hesitated, wary, but then slowly reached across to take the data pad. As he slowly sat back down again he began to read its contents, and then paused for a moment, a look of confusion on his face. He continued reading and then, after a few kliks, looked up again. “Sunny… he – he tried to tell me… but, but I wouldn’t listen to him.” There was anguish, hesitation. “Nor would I have believed him.”

Ratchet nodded solemnly. “No. But we can now.”

Standing up abruptly, Sideswipe placed the data pad on Ratchet’s desk and then turned away. He paced the length of the room, stopping at the far wall and looking up at the metallic trophy that proudly hung there. He read the inscription below it, all the while lost in the memory of a time that had long since passed, though its effects still lingered. Then he turned back to face Ratchet. “It doesn’t matter now; it’s too late, anyway. There’s nothing we can do.”

“What do you mean it’s too late?” Ratchet challenged.

Sideswipe strode back towards him, moving quickly, and placed both his hands flat on the desk top, leaning across it. “Listen to me! Sentinel’s too powerful. He’s got the Council wrapped around his little finger; he’s got a whole Neutral army behind him, _plus_ half of all the Autobots in Antihex, and who knows how many of the other Autobot-controlled city-states as well!”

“What did you just say?” Ratchet replied, trying to make sense of what Sideswipe had just told him, but the Autobot’s difficult claims had come at him so fast that he didn’t know whether he had heard them correctly.

Sideswipe stepped back, straightened to his full height. “I said Sentinel’s too powerful–”

“No, no. About the Autobots. What did you just say about the Autobots in Antihex?” The Autobot warrior gave him a look of consternation before averting his gaze. “Sideswipe… what do you mean Sentinel’s got half the Antihex Autobots behind him?” Ratchet pressed.

“I saw them with my own optics. I don’t know how to explain it, but those Autobots… they’d been compromised, somehow. It almost looked like they were all under some sort of crazy, hypnotic spell.”

Ratchet rubbed the side of his face, contending with his own doubts and disbelief. “If what you’re saying is true… why didn’t you report it?”

Sideswipe became indignant. “You think I haven’t tried? No one would believe me!”

The room echoed with the silent sounds of aftershock, and for several difficult moments Ratchet struggled to look for some kind of reasonable explanation for what Sideswipe claimed to have witnessed. However, he was fast losing that battle. “I believe you. There’re just too many things that I can’t explain.” He shook his head slowly. “Groove’s memory loss, for one thing… and those lab notes. It just doesn’t make any sense.” Sideswipe said nothing; he dared not reveal anything about Groove’s condition, lest Sentinel should punish him for it. Ratchet continued to observe him carefully. “Oh, I’ve been meaning to ask – did you get that recorded message from Smokescreen?”

The Autobot medic thought he saw Sideswipe’s optics flicker. “Yeah, I did,” the warrior replied simply.

“Good,” he continued. “I hope it was of some help to you.”

“It was a message from Sunny, soon after he left,” Sideswipe explained without being asked, watching the other’s reaction as he did so. “He said that Sentinel had something to do with that Plague… he had doubts about the Alliance from the very beginning.”

“Ah.” Ratchet nodded.

“Why didn’t you show it to me sooner?” Sideswipe demanded.

The medic sighed. “Sunstreaker managed to transmit that message to Iacon using a Neutral emergency transport shuttle. At the time you’d already been dismissed from active duty… but you were adamant about not wanting to be found, so I held onto it in the hopes that I’d be able to get it to you eventually. But, I never heard from either of you afterwards.”

Sideswipe slowly sat back down again as he listened to what Ratchet had to say. “You haven’t heard from him since?” His words were strained, his difficulty with vocalizing the question clearly evident in his tone.

Ratchet slowly shook his head. “No. I’m sorry.” He paused, wanting very much to reassure him somehow, to make it up to him after the way he’d treated him all those years ago. “I know what it’s like to lose someone, you know.”

Sideswipe did not respond. Instead the two of them sat in silence, pondering their own thoughts, and the air was filled with both a sadness and sympathy that neither of them wanted to fully fathom. Finally, after what felt like vorns, Sideswipe broke the silence. “I gotta get going.” He stood up and headed towards the exit, waited for the door to slide open in front of him.

“Wait–” Ratchet stood up also. “Sideswipe?”

The black and red Autobot warrior hesitated. “Yeah?”

“Listen, uh, if you need anything, you’ll let me know. Okay?” Ratchet sounded unsure of himself, almost as if he needed the other’s understanding and approval. At the very least, however, he sounded sincere.

Sideswipe turned halfway back towards him, then nodded in acknowledgment. “Sure,” he said, and left.

* * *

The main conference room was filled to capacity with most of the senior ranking Iaconian Autobots. Only Sentinel Prime and Sideswipe were absent. Many had taken a seat around the oval table, while the rest remained standing. The sound of chatter filled the room, along with an underlying tension accompanied by a sense that the beginning of something monumental was about to take place, something with possibly serious and far-reaching consequences.

When Optimus cleared his vocal processor, every Autobot in the room quietened down, eager to hear what he had to say. “My fellow Autobots, we have always fought side-by-side and stood strong against the threat of our enemies over the many vorns… throughout the Great War, and the Great Devastation, and through the perils that we have all faced together and have overcome, from the moment we were first given life by our Creator. However, in that time we have also lost many good friends and allies, yet we must never allow our enemies to defeat us. We must not stop until we have earned the rest that our sparks so desperately crave, always in the knowledge that we must continue to fight for what is right, and for truth, for freedom, from all forms of oppression… It is my deepest ambition to see that each and every one of you may live without fear, looking with hope towards our future.” He paused, moving his gaze around the room to acknowledge each and every Autobot officer. “I consider each and every one of you my closest and dearest friend.”

“Optimus?” Ironhide started uncertainly, but Hot Rod nudged him hard.

“Shh, let him speak!” the orange and red warrior rebuked him in a harsh whisper. The looks from many of the other Autobots offered Ironhide the same message, and he took the hint.

“I would not allow harm to come to any of you, if it is within my power to do so, however I want you to know that I have the utmost faith in all of you. It is important now, more than ever, that you all stand strong, united against our common enemy. With… or without me.”

It was as if a sudden maelstrom had been unleashed. The reactions amongst the Autobots were varied; some sat or stood where they were in disbelief, others demanded an explanation, while yet others raised their voices in concern and protestation.

“But, Prime!” Ironhide burst out in frustration and confusion, but his voice was drowned out by others.

“What do you mean, Optimus? Are you leaving us?” Bluestreak questioned.

“No way is any harm going to come to you – not if I have anything to say about it!” Brawn declared, standing in a group with the other minibots in one corner of the room.

“Prime, are you stepping down? What’s this all about, anyway?” Hound’s voice cut momentarily through the din.

Prowl stood up and attempted to quieten the group down again. “Everybody, please – let him talk!”

With a little more prompting, the assembled were able to lower their collective voices, though Optimus did not appear distracted by their reactions. He sat and waited patiently, absorbed in his own thoughts as he prepared to deliver his final speech as Supreme Commander of the Autobot army. “I will only ask this one thing of you, and that is that you all continue to uphold the Autobot code of honour at all times, to the best of your abilities, no matter what happens to me.”

“Prime, what’s going on?” Ironhide’s sour expression plainly showed his utter concern for the Autobot Commander, and also his best friend. “If there’s something you’re not telling us…”

“We’ll stand by you, no matter what, Optimus. All the way,” Silverbolt said reassuringly, speaking for all the Aerialbots standing around him.

“I’m with Ironhide and Silverbolt,” Trailbreaker continued. “Prime, if there’s anything we can do to help – you can trust us, whatever it is.”

“I do trust you, Trailbreaker,” Optimus replied. “I trust all of you with my life. However, there’s nothing you can do for me this time.” He took a long, deep inhalation before continuing, as every Autobot in the room hung expectantly on his every word. “I will soon be required to surrender my post as Commander of the Autobot army… and when I do, I need you all to remain strong.”

“But you can’t, Optimus! We need you now more than ever!” Hot Rod spoke up, followed by unanimous support from the entire group.

“I’m sorry, but I must. I have no choice.” Optimus did not elaborate further, though it was obvious that the matter weighed heavily upon his shoulders.

“But, what are we going to do? Who will lead us?” Hot Spot asked.

Groove agreed with his team leader. “No one can take your place as our leader.”

Ratchet also spoke his mind. “Surely there’s got to be some other way, Optimus?”

“I’m afraid not, Ratchet old friend. I, too, am honour-bound and must do what is right.”

“Do what is right, for whom?” Ratchet challenged, venting his personal disagreement with whatever it was that was driving their leader to arrive at such a drastic decision. “Damn it, Optimus! Would you at least tell us why?”

“This ain’t right,” Ironhide said, concurring with his sentiments.

Optimus raised a hand so that they would all quieten down again, enough for him to continue speaking. “More than a vorn ago, at the end of the Last Great War, I took an oath to stand by the values and principles as set out under our new Agreement. I swore to defend and uphold those values no matter what, so that we might always stand strong against the Decepticons and defeat them once and for all, with the Neutrals as our new allies.” He paused, gauging their reactions; as he had feared, the majority of his officers were having difficulty accepting what he had to tell them. “Soon, however, I must face the consequences of the decisions that I have made in light of that Agreement, and must willingly accept them, no matter their outcome. My role as Autobot Commander demands nothing less of me.” A brief pause and then, “Thank you all. It has truly been an honour to serve among you as your leader and fellow Autobot.”

A few seconds of uncomfortable silence immediately followed his speech, and then the room broke out once more in a cacophony of discordant voices. Many of the Autobots continued to press him with questions and demand more answers, several of them frustrated and upset, but he was tired and low on energy, and decided that the best thing for him to do in that moment was to give them all some space, and time to process everything that he had just told them. Perhaps, he should try to get some recharge. Soon, he would need all his strength to face the inevitable. He stood and headed for the door, pressed the button on the access panel, and left without another word.

* * *

It had been decided that Megatron would lead a team to infiltrate Quadrant Epsilon and henceforth break into the Detention Banks, in an attempt to save their deactivated companions. The team would consist of Scrapper, Hook, Bonecrusher, Long Haul, Rumble, and the jaguar-like mini-cassette, Ravage. Jazz would also accompany them, as had been agreed to earlier, whilst Soundwave, Laserbeak, and the two remaining Constructicons, Scavenger and Mixmaster, were to remain at the Darkmount base to monitor communications. The team would need to move in and out of the Quadrant unnoticed, and would need to avoid any encounters with either Autobots or Neutrals, if at all possible. Whilst the Quadrant itself was heavily guarded, it was not known how well guarded the Detention Banks were, nor where its detainees were precisely located, however the Decepticons did have a couple of things going for them. One; due to that sector's isolation deep below ground, they would be able to circumvent Iacon entirely, which was situated far above it on the planet’s surface, and two; thanks to their recently developed teleportation technology, they would be able to instantly transport themselves to a pre-selected location close to their target.

Jazz watched as Scrapper rummaged through supplies from the munitions bay at the end of one of the long tunnels that spanned the area beneath the Darkmount site. There were still many things he wanted to know, in particular about the Decepticons’ involvement in the events that had led up to the formation of the Alliance – many questions that still remained unanswered – though he knew that he would do best to bide his time, first prove to them that he could be trusted with any such information.

The Constructicon leader tossed a case of timed explosives at Jazz, as well as a circuit immobilizer. “Here, take these,” he said, as he took a few hand grenades for himself.

Jazz caught the munitions with ease and nodded in approval. “Think we’ll need these?”

“You never know.” Scrapper then took several weapons from the shelves and checked them over, adjusting the settings on each. “We haven’t had to use these for quite a while,” he said, his voice amplified in the stillness. It was quiet down here, and it was just the two of them; the other Decepticons had recently retired for recharge.

They would begin their mission as soon as the current recharge cycle was completed, still several hours away according to Jazz’s internal chronometer, and he wondered whether it was a good time to bring up the topic of the Great War. “Were you there – during the battle at Kaon?”

Scrapper looked up from his task. His face mask hid his expression, though his deliberate, careful movements betrayed his uneasiness with the topic. “I remember it like it happened only yesterday,” he replied after some time.

“Uh-huh.” Jazz was about to ask Scrapper what he remembered, but then the Constructicon spoke again.

“Yeah, great battle it turned out to be,” Scrapper said, and Jazz was sure there was sarcasm in his tone.

“What happened?” he asked, genuinely curious.

Scrapper appraised the arsenal of weapons he’d selected for the mission, and seemed satisfied. Then he turned his attention to the Autobot, considering his reply. “There was a Neutral-led assault on our base – not this one, but in Kolkular. They’d been planning to drive us out for deca cycles, and so they gathered their forces and laid siege against us.” He picked up his collection of weapons and headed towards the door, stopping momentarily to wait for Jazz to follow him out. “So we fought back, and started to drive them away. We were winning, until…” He trailed off, looking away uncertainly.

Jazz walked out of the bay, and then watched as Scrapper input a secure code to seal the munitions bay door closed. “Until… what?” His gaze fixed upon the Constructicon with single-minded focus.

“It doesn’t matter any more,” the Constructicon engineer said, hesitant, before starting on his way back down the tunnel. “Come on, we should get some recharge before we leave next cycle.”

“Hey, hold up!” Jazz sprinted a few steps to catch up with him, and placed a hand on the Decepticon’s arm to get his attention. “You’re wrong – it _does_ matter,” he justified, pulling his hand back as Scrapper turned around to face him. “Look, this probably comes as no surprise to you, but we have an official version of the story back in Iacon, and… well, let’s just say that it’s a completely different interpretation to what you’ve just told me.”

Scrapper hesitated, averting his gaze. “I don’t know what to tell you, Jazz.”

“Just tell me what you know,” Jazz pressed.

The Autobot was persistent, and Scrapper sighed softly. “I’m not sure about all the details. What’s your version?” As he began walking again, Jazz kept pace with him.

“Ah, long story short – the Decepticons engaged in battle against Autobot and Neutral forces in a last stand at Kaon but suffered a major defeat, resulting in an undisputed victory for the Alliance. This made way for the Cybertronian Empire’s new Governance Ruling Agreement to come into force on star date 143,501, thereby effectively ending the Last Great War and ushering in the New Era,” Jazz recounted, summarizing the Archives file that he’d retrieved from memory.

“Undisputed victory, huh?” As he spoke, Scrapper continued to lead the way down another long tunnel until they arrived at a spacious area, designated for private quarters. “Well, we did not suffer a major defeat at the hands of the Neutral army… and the Autobots? From what I recall there weren’t very many of them around – I don’t care what your official story says.” He entered the darkened room, placed the weapons down on a nearby bench, and then walked over to an alcove that contained recharging berths. Five of them were occupied by the other Constructicons; three were empty. “Megatron ordered a retreat after a confrontation with Sentinel Prime. But, like I said, I don’t know any of the details of that. He never really spoke about it afterwards. Maybe you should ask him yourself?”

Jazz nodded thoughtfully. “Thanks. I might just do that.”

Scrapper pointed to an empty recharge berth. “You can use one of ours,” he offered simply. Then he lay down on one of the other empty berths, and said nothing further.

Jazz stayed awake for several more minutes, sitting on his berth in quiet reflection, before finally going into recharge.

* * *

“We’re almost there; it’s just up ahead.” Sunstreaker paused to survey the landscape. In the growing light of early morning, the relay station where he’d been captured by Sentinel Prime’s hench-mechs stood stark and gloomy in the distance against Hitec’s city skyline. The converted, drab warehouse functioned as one of the Neutral-Supremacist syndicate’s many way stations, where cargo and personnel were covertly shipped to and from the subterranean base, but it also served as a storage facility.

Comet paused to look ahead before continuing on past Sunstreaker, unperturbed, stopping to glance back at him for only a brief instant. “Well, are you coming?”

The yellow Autobot quickly caught up to the seeker and grabbed his arm. “Wait, Comet. There’re surveillance cameras right around the perimeter, as well as a silent alarm system,” he warned, releasing Comet’s arm and pointing above the entrance to the relay station. “If we try to get inside through the front, a security team will be here in no time.”

Comet hesitated, taking heed of his warning. “How did you get inside the last time?”

“I hid in one of the transport vehicles,” Sunstreaker replied.

“Hm. A transport vehicle, eh? That’s not such a bad idea.” Comet surveyed the area until he caught sight of a narrow bridge crossing just ahead. He began to walk towards it, grabbing Sunstreaker by the arm as he did so and forcing the Autobot to follow him. “Come on.”

Upon reaching the crossing, Comet dropped down one level to land inside a tunnel just underneath the bridge. Sunstreaker did the same, and then felt that it might be wise to ask the seeker what he was intending. “So, what now?”

“Now, we wait.” Comet leaned against the tunnel wall and glanced up at the domed ceiling above them. There were logographs sprawled in faded red ink across the metallic surface, though they appeared to be part of some foreign language that he wasn’t familiar with. “Then, when the first transport vehicle comes along, we’ll take control of it.” Sunstreaker gave him a look of uncertainty. “Unless you have a better idea?”

He shook his head in resignation. “No. I suppose it could work.”

“Good.”

He thought it was a typical Decepticon plan; rough and ready, not to mention more than a little dangerous – there was no telling what kind of transport vehicle was scheduled to arrive at the relay station next, or even who might already be inside the relay station once they got inside – regardless, he had to admit that Comet’s plan did have at least some merit, provided a little luck was on their side, of course. Besides, Sunstreaker really didn’t have a better idea. He sat down on the rough ground, making himself more comfortable for the wait, and looked up at the ceiling. He stared at the writing for a long time with mounting curiosity.

“Can you read that?” Comet asked him quizzically.

Sunstreaker rubbed at the back of his helm. “Not too well. It’s an old script… from the looks of it I’d say it’s probably Glithosian.” When Comet gave him an amused expression, he clarified. “I had a passing interest in foreign written languages before the Great Wars.” A pause, and then, “How about you – did you have any interests before the wars?” He doubted he’d get any meaningful information from Comet about his past but he thought he’d ask, nonetheless.

“I have always been a warrior…” Comet began, but then trailed off, saying nothing further.

“You don’t like talking about yourself, do you?” Sunstreaker said, though with empathy in his voice. Again the seeker did not respond, so he looked up at the writing on the ceiling again, returning the focus of their conversation to the graffiti. “ _‘The Apocalypse is upon us_. _’_ Huh. You think it’s a reference to the Great Devastation?”

Comet looked up at the graphemes on the ceiling and shrugged. “I don’t know.”

They sat there together for several more minutes in silence until, eventually, they heard the sound of a vehicle approaching, trundling towards the crossing.

*

Before Sunstreaker could ask how, exactly, Comet planned on seizing control of the approaching vehicle, the seeker had already jumped back up onto the bridge. “Comet–” he called after him, as he climbed up a narrow ladder that led to the crossing. “Hey, wait up!” As the road came into view, he surveyed the oncoming vehicle, and as expected it was a transport car. To his bewilderment, it appeared that Comet had no particular strategy in mind; the seeker simply stood in the middle of the crossing, blocking traffic, his arms crossed in front of his chest. Sunstreaker watched as the vehicle came to a slow stop, and after several long astro-seconds, its side doors opened and two Neutral agents stepped out, blasters at the ready.

“It’s good of you to finally show up – you’re _late_!” Comet called out, goading them.

The Neutrals exchanged glances, momentarily confused, and then raised their weapons at the Cybertronian jet, motioning for him to step aside. “You’re in our way. _Move_ , or we’ll blast ya!”

But Comet appeared unworried by their show of aggression. “Oh, pardon me, what was I thinking?” he said to them and started to back away, moving off to the side of the road, hands held out in a placating gesture before him.

The Neutrals hesitated, and then sneered at him, snorting derisively as they watched him back away. “Stupid junker!” one of them said, chuckling.

“Yeah. Hey, hold on a cycle – don’t he look kinda familiar to you?” the other said, doing a double take.

“Say, now that you mention it. Maybe we ought to take him to the boss – you never know, he might be worth something,” the first Neutral said to the other in a lowered voice, before turning his attention back to Comet. “Hey, you! You’re Cybertronian, aren’t ya?” When Comet did not give him a reply, the Neutral stepped towards him, his expression impatient. “I asked you a question, slag face! You Cybertronian?”

Once the Neutral had gotten close enough, Comet straightened his right arm out in front of him and fired a shot from his blaster. The intense beam of energy hit the Neutral directly in the chest before he had time to realize what had happened. Then Comet fired a second shot in quick succession, hitting the second Neutral, who had been standing behind the first, in the face. They both fell backwards with loud grunts, their weapons dropping to the ground as they did so.

“I’m _Decepticon_ , slag breath!” Comet said to the offlined mechs, and walked quickly to pick up one of their weapons from the ground. He tossed it in the air across to Sunstreaker, who had been watching the entire exchange from the top of the ladder. “Here, this might come in handy,” he said.

The blaster landed neatly in Sunstreaker’s hand, and he moved quickly to join his unlikely partner. “Thanks,” he replied, glad to be in possession of a weapon once again – an essential requirement for a bot’s survival on Alternity City.

Comet stepped towards the transport vehicle and examined it, peering inside. It was unmarked, and appeared to be a solid transport van. Its storage compartment was separate from the cab portion at the front, which was now vacant. “Care for a ride?” he said, and took the right passenger seat, while Sunstreaker took the driver’s seat on the left, as both doors slammed closed at the same time.

With a hint of a smile Sunstreaker pressed down on the throttle, and the van shot forward across the bridge and toward the relay station.

* * *

Moonracer managed to acquire a beam array without any major problems. She had seen many useful items available for purchase inside the same mega-complex that they’d come across when they’d first arrived in Binaltech. At first, the bot assistant had told her that he would have to check the storage room for a beam array as it was not a frequently requested item, but by the time he had re-emerged from the back of the store after several breems, Moonracer had grown impatient with the long wait.

Seventy-five credits later, however, and she had reverted back to her usual, cheery self, proudly holding up the array for her two best friends to see.

“Great! Now let’s get going,” Chromia had said, and the three of them had wasted no time returning to their base in Koltar.

Moonracer immediately went to work rebuilding their transmitter, while Firestar activated their long range scanner to try and locate Elita One, but there seemed to be no trace of her.

“We could try contacting Cybertron Command, once the transmitter is functional again–” Firestar suggested, but Chromia did not let her finish.

“Cybertron Command? Are you kidding? It’s too risky. No way the Alliance can be trusted – not now,” she said, shaking her head.

“Okay. So, what did you have in mind?” Firestar queried, but the second in command didn’t hear her; she was too immersed in her own thoughts. “Chrome?”

“Huh?” Startled for a moment, Chromia faced her team mate and then began pacing slowly across the room, one hand on hip, looking down towards the floor. She appeared to be intently focused on something, but then she sighed and turned back to face Firestar. “I just wish Elita were here.”

The red and orange femme nodded. “I’m hoping she’s still on Alternity City.”

The very idea that Double – if that was even his real name – had taken Elita One off-world was quite disconcerting, especially after the doublecrossing Cybertronian had mentioned that there was a bounty on her head. Had that been the only reason he had forcibly taken her – to exchange her for a large sum of credits? Had they actually been followed to _The Gambler’s Den_ , and even after they’d left? If so, the three of them could very much still be in danger.

“Okay – I’m done. Chromia?” Moonracer’s voice drifted across to Chromia, who strode over to the work bench where the green femme had been working.

She examined the transmitter on the bench top, which was now fully functional. “Good work, ‘Racer,” she said, and then returned to stand beside Firestar, though her thoughts were obviously elsewhere.

“Chrome?” Firestar watched her curiously.

Chromia exhaled slowly and then, finally, she turned to her two team mates. “Moonracer – can you establish a communications link over a specific frequency band?”

Moonracer shrugged. “Well, sure. What range would you like? Autobot Command, the emergency band… um, the Destron Precinct control station?”

After a long moment, Chromia shook her head, bit her bottom lip. She inhaled and then exhaled deeply. “No… Decepticon,” she stated, matter-of-fact.

There was an awkward silence in the room before Firestar finally responded. “Decepticon? Chromia, what are you _thinking_?”

Moonracer’s optics widened in temporary shock, unsure of what to make of Chromia’s request. “Uh… well… I probably could… at least in theory I should be able to, yeah… though I’ve never actually _tried_ –”

“Moonracer – you’re not _actually_ thinking about it?” Firestar said in protest. “Chrome? The _Decepticons_ – I mean, why? The last thing we need is to let them know we’re here, and besides – we certainly don’t need their help!”

“I can mask our transmission location, if you want? It’s no problem,” Moonracer interjected.

“If _anyone_ can help us rescue Elita One, ‘Star, it’s them. They have the capabilities–” Chromia began to explain, but Firestar wasn’t accepting it.

She looked incredulously at her team leader. “But – what about Devcon, or… or maybe we could try and get in touch with Crosscut – I’m sure he’s still here on Alternity City, last I heard–”

Chromia shook her head, looking down at the floor. “No, we don’t have time for that.”

“Then… I don’t get it.” Firestar paused in exasperation, placing her hands on her hips. She spoke her next words with deliberation. “What makes you think that they’d even _want_ to help us, Chrome?”

Chromia looked up at her friend, offering her a sympathetic look. “Do you trust me?”

“Trust you? Well, of course I trust you, Chrome, but this is–” Firestar tried to reason.

“Then – trust me, please?”

Firestar shook her head and sighed, but she didn’t have a ready answer. Finally, after considering the proposition, she decided to give her friend the benefit of the doubt. So she relented, turning her palms upward in a show of surrender. “All right,” she said.

Chromia gave her an expression of gratitude. “I still don’t know if this is going to work, but we’ve got to try.” She walked back towards Moonracer and nodded towards the transmitter. The green femme was standing quietly by, waiting with interest to see what Chromia intended to do next. “Can you do it?”

“I think so,” Moonracer said, and selected the frequency band on the transmitter that she knew fell within the Decepticons’ general broadcast range. The message would not be transmitted on a secure channel, but it was the best she could do. “Um… so do you want to talk to Cybertron, or Alternity City?”

Chromia replied readily. “Alternity City.”

“Okay.” Moonracer set the controls as required, and then turned back to Chromia. “Ready when you are.” There was a tense moment of silence as she and Firestar waited for Chromia’s next instruction.

“Go ahead and open the channel,” she told Moonracer.

Moonracer flicked a switch on the transmitter. “It’s scanning…” Firestar quietly moved to stand behind the two, watching with an expression of scepticism and doubt. “Go ahead, say something,” Moonracer urged the second in command, gesturing with her hand.

Chromia stepped closer to the transmitter. “Astrotrain, if you’re out there, please respond.”

“Astrotrain?” Firestar whispered mistrustfully, but Chromia raised a hand to quieten her.

“Shhh.” Chromia kept her attention focused on the transmitter, listening intently. Of course, there was no guarantee that she’d be able to connect with the Decepticon in question, and it wasn’t without risk, but she thought it was worth a try. “Astrotrain, please respond.” She waited another minute, and then tried again. “Come on… Astrotrain, let me know you can hear this,” she said, but was once again greeted with silence. “Ah, it’s no use.” She was about to give up hope, averting her optics in disappointment, when a voice came over the com link.

“Who is this?” The voice was unmistakable – it belonged to Astrotrain, the Decepticon triple changer.

Chromia snapped her attention back to the transmitter. “This is Chromia.” She paused, waiting for the voice on the other end to say something further, but no response came. “Uh, we met at the energy accumulator?”

There was another long silence, and for a moment she thought that the connection might have been lost, but then his voice came over the link once again. “Oh… yeah, that’s right. I remember you. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

She glanced at Firestar, who gave her a sardonic look. “Charming, isn’t he?” the red femme said in a low voice.

Chromia ignored her comment. “Elita One’s been captured… she needs help,” she told him. She hadn’t considered what they might do if the Decepticon was unwilling to help them, and began to suddenly have doubts about contacting him in the first place.

Astrotrain must have picked up on the desperation in her voice, because he did not question the validity of her claim, nor why she’d decided to contact him about it. There was another pause before he finally replied. “This channel’s unsecured. If you want, we can meet somewhere?”

Chromia’s countenance eased somewhat in quiet relief at his response, and she rubbed at the back of her neck with her fingers, trying to think of the best rendezvous point – one that offered ease of access but was reasonably secure. “Okay… ah, how about…”

“Oh, how about the Koltar Air Base? It’s connected to the subway system, and it’s not too far from here,” Moonracer interjected, wanting to help.

“Okay,” Chromia said after brief consideration. “The Koltar Air Base?” she repeated for Astrotrain, in case he hadn’t overheard.

“Sounds good to me,” he replied.

“Say in… a couple of breems?” She was about to end the transmission, but then added her final thoughts. “Oh, and… Astrotrain?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

Slight hesitation. “Don’t mention it,” he said, and then disconnected from the transmission.

* * *

The plan to hijack a Neutral transport car and then use it to get inside the relay station without being detected worked like a charm. The door unlocked and slid open for them automatically as Sunstreaker guided the vehicle to the entrance and then, once inside, the doors closed behind them again. Sunstreaker brought the van to a stop and turned off the engine. The place seemed to be empty, so they carefully stepped out of the vehicle, keeping an optic out for any sign of life. It soon became apparent that apart from the two of them, there was no one else around.

Except for the rows of bare shelves and a terminal in one corner, the converted warehouse appeared to have been vacated. “They’ve cleared everything out,” Sunstreaker said, disappointed. As he spoke, Comet had already forced open the transport van’s rear doors, and was in the process of searching inside the compartment. Sunstreaker refocused his attention on Comet and walked around to the rear of the van to join him. There was a pile of sealed containers sitting neatly in the back. Comet picked one up and inspected it briefly, before handing it to Sunstreaker. “No seal, and no designation stamp. Just like the other containers that were in here,” he informed Comet as he turned the container over in his hands, wondering how he might be able to get it open without damaging its contents. “Any ideas on how to unlock it?”

The seeker had no answer for him. Instead he looked around the interior space until his gaze settled on the terminal in the corner and he walked towards it. He studied it for a moment before powering it up, watching as the blank monitor came to life. It appeared to be part of an advanced communications network of some sort, and immediately asked for authorization.

Sunstreaker made his way over to the terminal, placed the sealed container he was holding beside the monitor and sat down, staring at the authorization screen. Extending a probe from one of his fingertips, he inserted it into an input port and waited several seconds for feedback. “It’s connected to a large central network, but I don’t think I can get past all the security protocols. It’s too heavily guarded.”

“Try anyway,” Comet instructed him.

Sunstreaker considered his chances of being able to get into the Neutral com system – as an Autobot, he’d been able to access it a few times before, though it had only been low level access. “Alright…” He entered his Autobot security code, but it wouldn’t authorize; apparently, it had been deactivated. “Huh. They must think I’m dead.” Suddenly, there was a beeping sound coming from the terminal, and he looked up at Comet. “Great. I must have tripped the alarm.”

After a few moments, Comet replied. “Let’s get out of here. There’s nothing more to see, anyway,” he said, and walked towards the nearest wall. Punching a hole straight through the thin metal with his fist, he then made the opening wider by tearing it with his hands until it was large enough for him to walk through. As he did so, he looked out at the road and noticed the two Neutrals at the bridge crossing begin to stir and sit up. Glancing up at the sky, he realized that he hadn’t engaged his alt mode in a very long time, and suddenly found himself yearning for the open skies once more.

“Wait–” the Autobot said behind him. Comet looked back at him expectantly. “I don’t have aerial capabilities. I’m only going to slow you down.”

Comet hesitated for a moment, but then transformed into his jet mode, size-changing to suit. His was a predominately sleek form; dark grey frame highlighted with yellow vertical stabilizers and air intakes, and red and yellow pinstripes along his wings, matching the color scheme of his robot mode. Sunstreaker half expected the Decepticon to simply take off and leave him behind, allowing the approaching Neutral security teams to do with him as they pleased, but then he quickly realized that that was not the seeker’s intention at all. “Well… unless you want to stay here, I suggest you jump in,” Comet said, opening his cockpit canopy.

Sunstreaker grabbed the sealed container on the bench, burst through the gaping tear in the wall and jumped into the waiting cockpit seat. The canopy closed over him and then he felt the jet’s twin engines kick in, and within a matter of astro-seconds they shot upwards into the open sky as Comet activated his afterburners, leaving the relay station far below.

* * *

“So, you’re telling me you don’t remember what happened to you at all?” Ratchet asked, attaching a probe to a port behind Groove’s helm. The medic had headed to the repair bay shortly after Optimus’ ill-favoured announcement, at Red Alert’s request. Both Red Alert and Arcee stood beside him now, ready to assist.

Groove slowly shook his head. “No. It’s like my mind’s a blank.”

“Tell me the last thing you remember,” the Chief Medical Officer encouraged his patient, who had come in for his scheduled check-up session. Indeed, Red Alert had insisted that frequent sessions would be a necessary part of the Protectobot’s after-care regimen, at least until they could figure out what had happened to his memory.

“Uh, I think…” Groove frowned, trying hard to remember. “I was in Iacon? But I don’t know why.”

“Go further back if you’re having trouble, to the first thing that you _do_ remember. Just, take all the time you need. There’s no hurry,” Ratchet reassured him, as he quietly analysed the data readout from the probe on a nearby monitor.

“Okay. Well, I definitely remember hearing about the new directive.”

“Uh-huh.” The Autobot medic continued to analyse data as he initialized a scan of Groove’s memory core. “Tell me what you remember about that.”

“Well, I think… the High Council called for the capture of all Decepticons… but I don’t know what happened after that.” Groove sat quietly on his berth for a minute or so, introspective, until finally he looked up at the three of them. “Did we? Capture any Decepticons, I mean?”

Red glanced uneasily at Arcee before offering the Protectobot a brief answer. “Just the one.”

“Oh, you mean Scavenger?” Groove must have heard about the Constructicon’s capture and subsequent escape from his fellow Protectobots.

“That’s not important. What _is_ important is that you start to remember what happened to you,” Ratchet answered.

Groove looked up at him with widened optics. “Streetwise told me that he attacked me, but, well – I just couldn’t believe it. I mean, really – Scavenger?”

Ratchet removed the probe and turned off the display with a grimace. He turned to his two assistants, ready to deliver the bad news. “From what I can tell, his memory core has been tampered with.”

Red Alert looked at him in shock. “What? I mean – are you sure?” he said in disbelief. “But I performed a deep scan of his memory module – nothing like that ever came up.”

“That’s because you probably didn’t check for field integrity,” Ratchet explained.

Red Alert realized that he had, indeed, missed a critical point, and a look of astonishment crossed his face. Granted, the integrity of a module’s information field was usually only relevant when dealing with deliberate data extraction, such as in the removal of a virus, but Groove’s condition had never hinted at this – he had been attacked, not infected with a viral agent. Still, Red realized that, if someone had wanted to, and possessed the right clearance codes, they could have used the procedure to erase selected parts of Groove’s memory. If anything, it was an effective way to accomplish such a task, yet it was an unorthodox method; in Groove’s case, however, it immediately hinted towards something very sinister at play.

Arcee, too, seemed jolted by the revelation, and she placed a reassuring hand on Groove’s forearm. “Who would have done something like that? Hasn’t he been through enough?”

Ratchet gave them a disparaging look. “Isn’t it obvious?” But he received no response from either of them, and so he continued. “Someone doesn’t want Groove to know what happened to him.”

Arcee asked the obvious question. “But, who? The Decepticons?”

Ratchet looked doubtful. “Maybe… maybe not.”

“Maybe Scavenger wiped his memory just before–” Red Alert tried to reason, but Ratchet cut him short.

“No – this was done to him very recently. Within the last orn.” Silence filled the room as they contemplated what Ratchet had just told them. “Whoever it was must have carried out the procedure right here, while alone with Groove.”

“But–” Arcee looked down at the Protectobot, who returned her gaze with a calm expression, but then had to turn away, one hand covering her mouth. “Other than Red and myself, there’s been no one else in here unattended, except–” She forced herself to face the three of them again, inhaling sharply. “…Sideswipe,” she said after a moment, whispering the Autobot’s name.

“Sideswipe?” Ratchet repeated curiously.

“Oh, but it couldn’t have been him!” Arcee insisted, quickly coming to the Autobot’s defense. “He would never do anything like that!”

“Alright, calm down, Arcee,” Ratchet reassured her. “Now, we’re not going to jump to any conclusions.”

“So, what are we going to do?” Red Alert asked, but Ratchet was already one step ahead.

“Just give me a few moments to think,” he said. He sighed deeply, fixing his gaze upon Groove as he considered all available courses of action. “First thing’s first – we need to find a way to get Groove’s memory back.”

“But is that even possible?” Red asked.

“It depends,” Ratchet replied. “ _If_ the erased portion of his memory was processed via his autonomic pathways, then it’s possible that the data can be retrieved. Though, it would take time, and can’t be done without significant effort on Groove’s part.”

“Oh, of course,” Red said in realization. “The autonomic pathways process emotional responses, which are usually entwined with the memory data from our day-to-day experiences,” he explained to Arcee, before looking back at Ratchet.

“Emotional responses? You mean… like Groove might have experienced the night of his attack?” Arcee added softly.

“That’s right,” the Chief Medical Officer confirmed. “If we can reactivate those same emotional responses, the associated data will then reconstruct within his memory field. He's lucky, though – the longer we wait, the less chance that the process will be successful.” Then he turned to the Protectobot, moving closer and placing a hand on his shoulder. “Groove, we can probably get your memory back if we do it now, but we’re going to need your full co-operation.”

Groove looked up at him; there was a far-away look in his optics as he contemplated what the Autobot medic was saying. “Sure, okay.”

“Good. But first, it’s my duty to warn you… there’s a pretty good chance that when you do get your memory back… well, let’s just say that it probably won’t be pleasant. Do you understand me?” Groove hesitated, but then nodded. "You're going to remember exactly what happened to you. It'll probably be painful, and you're going to have to be prepared to face that."

“I understand.” Groove nodded again, uncertainly at first, but then he seemed to make a solid decision. “Please, I want to know who attacked me.”

Ratchet took a step back and straightened. “Alright, then let’s get started.”


	14. Chapter 14

After letting Thunderblast go free, Dirge, Astro and Rook made their way back to the ground level of the dwelling complex, where the rest of their companions awaited them.

Dirge glanced at Astro, who watched as Rook studied a hand-held scanner. “Do you think she believed you?” he asked in a low voice, as if worried that Thunderblast, somehow, might overhear them talking, even though it wasn’t possible.

Astro remained expressionless; his tall, robust form silhouetted against the morning rays of Alternity City’s blazing, giant yellow star. Then a small hint of a smile appeared on his face, as he recalled the threats and promises he’d made to the purple and yellow Cybertronian femme only a short time ago. “If I was a betting mech, I’d say yes,” he answered finally.

“Huh.” Dirge stood with his arms crossed, a sour expression on his face as he evaluated their latest plan. “But something tells me that you’re not much of a betting mech,” he retorted.

Dirge’s team mate, Thrust, stepped closer to the three of them. “So, what do we do now?” he asked, looking first to Dirge, and then to Astro for guidance. He still had his reservations about Astro’s assertion of leadership, though he trusted Dirge more than any mech and if both Dirge and Astrotrain were fine with Astro, then so was he.

“Hold on – I’m picking up something,” Astrotrain said suddenly.

Astro regarded the triple changer thoughtfully. “An energy signature?”

“No. On our com,” he replied with a look of confusion, then waited patiently for Astro’s instruction.

“I think I’m getting the same thing,” Rook said, looking back at them quizzically. “It’s an unsecured transmission.”

Thrust nodded in acknowledgment, having picked up the same signal, while the other jets hinted at the same, and no sooner had Rook spoken than Astro activated the audio receiver in his forearm so that they could all hear the message.

It was the voice of a femme. “Shhh. Astrotrain, please respond.”

The other Decepticon jets moved closer to listen as Rook glanced across at the triple changer, slightly amused. “Do you know who that is?”

Astrotrain seemed to have no clue as to the identity of the femme on the other end, or why she would be asking for him. He shook his head and shrugged, then looked back at his companions with curiosity. “I don’t pick up where the message is being sent from,” he noted.

“Nor do I,” Astro replied. “We can’t connect to an unsecured channel for long. They’ll be able to trace it straight back to us.” He looked at them uncertainly, thinking of what they should do. Indeed, if they responded to the message, the Hitec base would undoubtedly pick up the signal and then use it to pinpoint their location.

Rook broke the temporary silence. “Is it worth the risk?” he asked, looking toward Astrotrain as he did so.

Astro glanced at Rook before answering for Astrotrain, “No.” But then after a moment he added, “Answer it, anyway,” nodding at Astrotrain.

The feminine voice came over Astro’s link again. “Come on… Astrotrain, let me know you can hear this,” she said.

Keeping his gaze fixed on Astro, the purple and grey triple changer activated his transmitter, but remained hesitant. He hoped that it wasn’t some sort of trick, as he would hate to be the one responsible for giving away their location to the Supremacists. Nevertheless Astro and Rook waited patiently for him to answer the mysterious femme and so, finally, he did. “Who is this?”

“This is Chromia.” The femme paused, and a look of recognition came over Astro.

“Chromia,” he repeated, recalling the name, before addressing the gathered Decepticons. “She’s an Autobot femme,” he explained. “A member of Elita One’s crew. I don’t know why she’s here, on Alternity City.”

Astrotrain thought that the name sounded familiar as well, somehow, though he still wasn’t certain how he might know her. Before he could respond she clarified.

“Uh, we met at the energy accumulator?”

That’s when the memory of his unexpected encounter with the two Autobot femmes at an energy plant near Koltar came flooding back into his processor. The look of realization on his face told his two companions that Chromia’s story was true.

“So, you _do_ know her?” Rook mused, though a playful smile tugged at his mouth.

“Well, yeah, I – wait, you don’t think that–” Astrotrain gave the smaller Decepticon a sordid look, catching his drift. His expression was one of disapproval, his tone defensive. “We met briefly just the other day. I helped her and her friend out a bit, and then we parted ways.” He reactivated his com without waiting for Rook’s response. “Oh… yeah, that's right. I remember you.” Then he added, more to get a reaction out of Rook than for any other reason, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Elita One's been captured… she needs help,” Chromia replied over the com link.

Astrotrain watched and waited for Astro’s response, who considered the information with a calm disposition, carefully weighing up the situation. Then he simply nodded, and Astrotrain gave Chromia his reply. “This channel's unsecured. If you want, we can meet somewhere?”

“Okay… ah, how about…” There was an interruption in Chromia’s speech, and then another feminine voice could be heard in the background, though it wasn’t clear. Astrotrain could just make out the words. “How about the Koltar Air Base? It's connected to the subway system, and it's not too far from here.” Then Chromia’s voice again. “Okay. The Koltar Air Base?”

Astrotrain indicated towards the north for Astro’s benefit. “Koltar’s not too far from here.” He spoke into his com again. “Sounds good to me,” he replied.

“Say in… a couple of breems?” she said, and he was about to respond when she continued, adding, “Oh, and… Astrotrain?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

He briefly wondered whether Rook had taken her show of gratitude the wrong way but then dismissed the thought, though it still made him feel a little self-conscious. “Don't mention it,” he said, and disconnected from the transmission.

Immediately, Rook looked back at Astro in alarm. “I’m picking up two Cybertronian signatures, though one of them is indistinct – approaching, approximately one hundred thirty six mega-miles…”

The gathered Decepticons all turned to him, momentarily startled.

“Unscheduled?” Astro demanded, his attention now fully on his smaller companion. “Rook?”

Rook nodded emphatically, pointing at the sky just above the distant horizon to the north-east. “Yes!” Adjusting their visual range, they could all make out the tiny silhouette of an aircraft, though due to its distance away they could not make out any clear visual details.

“What’s the other signature?”

Rook looked over his shoulder at his companions. “It’s Autobot,” he informed them with nonchalant curiosity. Astro stepped closer toward the green mech to look over his shoulder. Then he grabbed the scanner from his hand and studied it for a moment.

“Think it’s him?” Astrotrain queried him hesitantly.

Astro slowly shook his head as he watched the rogue plane in the sky change course and begin to head north. “Not sure.” Whoever the two Cybertronians were, they would soon be tracked by the Destron Precinct control station, which had become nothing more than a front for the Hitec base’s surveillance unit. Astro had witnessed its covert infiltration and takeover first-hand over the last few stellar cycles, though had been unable to do anything to intervene for fear of blowing his cover. After a brief moment of contemplation he made his decision, casting his gaze directly at Dirge and his team of jets. “Can you scout ahead?” he said, indicating towards the diminishing speck on the horizon with a brief tilt of his head. Dirge glanced at his companions before nodding in the affirmative. “Good. But be careful to cover your tracks, and stay low. They’re probably being followed. Let me know as soon as you’ve identified them.”

Dirge nodded again with a solemn sense of duty, and then leaped into the air in flight, but did not activate his jet mode, and immediately headed out to follow the mystery jet.

Astro watched as Dirge’s team mates followed suit, taking flight in their robot modes, before he turned back to Astrotrain and Rook. “Come on, let’s go,” he prompted as he, too, began to head north.

* * *

Thunderblast raced along the unfamiliar streets, heading in a southerly direction towards Binaltech, wanting to get as far away from the dwelling complex as possible. She had been running for almost fifteen minutes, replaying the events of that morning and of the night before over and over again in her processor, and the more she remembered Dirge’s deceptive show of interest in her the more furious she became, until it felt as though she would explode from her broiling anger. She felt utterly humiliated, not to mention betrayed, by a mech whom she had secretly admired from a distance, and now she wanted nothing more than to exact revenge upon him and his Decepticon pals. However, she was afraid of what Astro had done to her, and she recalled with bitterness the fact that she was essentially unable to do anything, or even contact anyone, without his knowing about it. That bastard.

She was so consumed with anger and resentment that she did not notice the enhanced form of an orange and grey jet transformer emerge from the street corner just ahead. His large frame completely blocked her path and she almost ran straight into him. A hand gripped her upper arm tightly and she yelped in fright, startled. The jet-former dragged her back behind the corner into a side street and rammed her against a featureless grey wall, pinning her with his strong grip. “Jhiaxus,” she whispered in recognition. Despite her helplessness against his incredible physical strength, she tried not to show fear.

He scowled, his sunken cheeks and heavyset jaw all the more menacing as he leaned threateningly closer to her face. “You know where he is, don’t you?” he said accusingly, his voice a low rumble.

“He?” Thunderblast tried to act as clueless as possible, though she had never felt so much fear in her entire life. “Ahem… Jhiaxus… I _really_ don’t know what you’re talking about–” She felt her hull wings as they were slammed hard against the wall, and she let out a startled cry. “Please… please…” she begged, and the very energon in her fuel lines congealed in response to her terror.

But he simply ignored her fear; he was only after one thing. “ _Where is he_?” he demanded, raising his voice so that he was almost screaming the words at her. “ _Where is Comet_?”

“Wh… what?” she said, in between sobs, surprised. She had thought that he had meant Astro, not Comet. “I don’t know… I _swear_ … please, Jhiaxus… please…” she told him truthfully. He continued to bore holes into her with his stare, unconvinced, and so she resumed her pleas in the weak hope that maybe, just maybe, he might believe her ignorance and decide to let her go. In that moment of terror she couldn’t say whether she would rather suffer an irreversible shutdown of her main processor courtesy of Astro, or be beaten senseless by Jhiaxus, but while the latter option would hurt much more than the former, a cascade failure would mean the end of her. “Please,” she begged again, her voice trembling and barely above a whisper, “I don’t know where Comet is… please.”

“If you’re lying to me, Thunderblast…” he threatened, his intention deadly serious. It would take him less than an astro-second to permanently deactivate her; all he’d have to do was tear out her spark chamber with his bare hands, or crush her throat until the internal circuitry inside her cranial unit overheated from the sudden pressure that would result after her coolant system ceased to function.

“No… no, no, no, no… I’m not… please… please, I’m not lying to you. I don’t know where he is–!” she pleaded in desperation, her entire frame shuddering involuntarily.

“Shut up!” he demanded, snarling. “Stop your sniveling.” She tried to do as he had told her but couldn’t help the sobs or the quivering, despite her best efforts. Once she had quietened down enough, he spoke to her again, his voice calmer. “Tell me, then… what were you doing with that detestable Decepticon slagger, hm?”

Her widened optics stared back at him, and it was as if her entire body had become nothing but an empty husk, devoid of consciousness. She dared not move or speak, but then he shook her violently, and she cried out again. “No, stop! Please, stop, please… I’ll tell you everything I know, please! Just don’t hurt me, please…” she begged, sobbing again. “I haven’t seen him… I don’t know where he is–” Suddenly his grip on her arms tightened, and again she faltered, words failing her.

Jhiaxus gave her a disparaging look, mocking her, enjoying her fear. “Hmmm… fancy little refuelling station… corner of 52nd and 41st… you and… ahhh… what was his name? Hmmm?” He spoke slowly, emphasizing every word so that he would get his point across in her heightened state of fear.

It began to dawn on her that Jhiaxus was not referring to any alleged encounter with Comet this time, but to her actual meeting with Dirge the day before. She recalled the Decepticon’s words inside the refuelling outlet warning her that she had been followed, but she had dismissed it almost without a second thought. Then, once she’d realized that Dirge had lied to her just to get her to follow him to the dwelling complex, she had decided that nothing of what he had told her during the time they’d spent together had been truthful; but, now, it looked as though not everything he had said had been a lie, after all.

Thinking quickly, pushing against her fear, she had to come up with some way of convincing Jhiaxus that she had done nothing wrong. “Oh, you mean Dirge?” she uttered, trying to sound as innocent as possible. He looked at her critically, as if he were trying to decide whether he should kill her right then and there, or give her a chance to explain herself. “Ha. Oh, yes! Um… that was Dirge. I… um, I mean, you know, he followed me there… and then wanted to talk. That’s – that’s all that happened. I – I swear!” She tried to look as sincere as possible, but his expression remained cold.

Jhiaxus took a long while before he finally spoke again. “What did he want to talk about?”

Thunderblast’s air intakes worked overtime to counter her panic but, miraculously, she managed to remain focused. If she played her cards right, she may just get away with her life. “Oh. He, he… asked me about Comet. He wanted to know where he was… and… and that, uh, Megatron had… had asked about him.”

Jhiaxus’ green optics flickered at the mention of the Decepticon leader’s name, and he hesitated. “If you’re lying to me…” he started, but she cut him short.

“I’m not! I _swear_ to you, Jhiaxus – that’s what he told me!” Then, after a moment, he released his grip on her and she collapsed, losing her balance. Then she slowly shifted her position but did not dare to stand, instead she remained crouched low against the wall. She cycled air a few times, trying to regain her composure before finally tilting her head up to meet his gaze.

“Tell me everything you know,” he said, looking down at her. “Leave _nothing_ out… and I may allow you to walk away.”

She felt a sudden surge of relief, but dared not reveal to him her thoughts; it was not over yet. She nodded dutifully, looking up at him in earnest. “He said… that Megatron is willing to offer a high reward for Comet.” She rubbed her helm, as if trying to recall the details of her conversation. “Something about… wanting to find him at any cost.” She was silent for a long while, trying to keep her fear under control so that Jhiaxus would not detect her falsehood. Though, the information she had just given him was not entirely false.

“What else?” he demanded.

She shook her head slowly, and then locked her gaze with his. Hoping against hope that he would be satisfied with what she was telling him and decide to let her go free. “Dirge also mentioned that – that Megatron was willing to trade… Astro… for Comet. I don’t know anything more; I swear… that’s all he told me.”

The next few moments felt like the most intense moments she’d ever experienced in her life, as she waited with trepidation for Jhiaxus’s reaction. Then, in the blink of an optic he had transformed into his alt mode and shot upwards into the sky, his boosters leaving a trail of smoke as he streaked away out of sight.

The moment she was sure that he had truly gone, she allowed herself to collapse to the ground, her frame trembling from the fright of her encounter, and quietly began to sob.

* * *

The three Autobot femmes made the short journey to the Koltar Air Base in their vehicle modes, keeping to the side streets so as not to attract any undue attention, though the suburb of Koltar was mostly industrial – the only mechs in the vicinity mostly workers at the various factories nearby.

The Air Base itself was mostly a flat expanse, on which were situated a few hangars, and an underground, connecting subway point. Other than a wide, main building at its entrance, there were not very many other visible structures; indeed, it was significantly smaller in comparison to the much busier inner-city space ports of Binaltech and Hitec.

“Do you think he’s already here?” Moonracer said, transforming back into robot mode and peeking into the complex from outside the fenced perimeter. She was a little nervous about their meeting with a Decepticon under seemingly amicable circumstances, though she couldn’t help but feel a little excited by the whole idea as well; the chances for such a meeting, if she were back on Cybertron, would have been virtually zero.

“That’s assuming he’s even going to show up at all,” Firestar said, transforming and walking up to stand behind her.

The two of them began to follow Chromia into the main building, the front gates opening and closing automatically as they walked through. Once inside, the small foyer branched out in four different directions; the reception area, the waiting area, hangar access, and the subway system.

“So, where does one meet a Decepticon these days?” Firestar said sardonically, directing her comment at Chromia, her arms crossed in front of her. She was still sceptical about the whole arrangement, but tried to keep her misgivings to herself – most of them at least, if not all – for her friend’s sake.

The second in charge, however, could easily read through her façade. “Give him a chance. If it doesn’t work out then you can yell at me all you want, okay?” Chromia said, her voice subdued as a group of non-Cybertronian mechanoids walked past them on their way through into the waiting area. Then she waved at her two team mates to follow them in. “Come on.”

They finally decided on a cluster of seats in one corner of the waiting area, near a window that overlooked the runway outside. The place seemed safe enough; a fairly nondescript setting with very little activity. After almost a breem of waiting, Firestar, seated opposite the blue femme, finally let out a cycle of air, impatient and increasingly anxious. When Chromia looked to her questioningly, she returned an expression of mild exasperation. “I still don’t know that this is such a great idea, Chrome,” she confessed at last. “We can’t afford to make another mistake, not after Elita.”

Chromia released a small sigh and looked down at the floor. “I know, ‘Star. I just…” she said, trailing off, trying to come up with good enough justification for her actions – though more for her own benefit than for her friend’s. Before she could look squarely up into her optics she felt Moonracer’s hand grabbing her arm, shaking her.

“Chromia! Chromia, look! I think it’s _him_!” Moonracer whispered, unable to contain her excitement.

“What?” She looked up and followed Moonracer’s pointing finger, while Firestar cautiously glanced over her shoulder behind her.

And, sure enough, there he was, standing by the entrance to the subway on the other side of the foyer. He was unaccompanied, and watched with an unhurried, quiet assuredness at the unobtrusive comings and goings of mechs inside the building. He took his time, probably wanting to make certain that he wasn’t being followed, until his gaze finally settled on the three femmes in the waiting area. Then he began to walk towards them with a casual, confident stride. Firestar rose from her seat, ready to confront him, but Chromia leaned across to stop her. “Wait,” she told her, adding, “Just let me talk to him first.”

As he entered the waiting area, Moonracer sat up straight, her optics fixed upon the purple and grey Decepticon. Her mouth hung slightly open, though she did not realize how she must have looked until Chromia nudged her with an elbow, startling her out of her reverie. “You’re acting like you’ve never seen a Decepticon before,” Chromia whispered.

“Well, I haven’t, really. Not up close,” Moonracer managed to reply, before the subject of her fascination stopped short in front of the three of them. He glanced briefly back over his shoulder, before his gaze settled upon Chromia.

As she stood up to greet him, he noted that her frame was much smaller than his, though he also sensed a reserved strength coming from her. It was the same quiet strength she had demonstrated when they had last crossed paths at the energy accumulator.

“Thanks for showing up,” she said. He regarded her calmly, his red optics bright and intense, and she continued without waiting for his reply. “We never did get the chance to thank you for helping us out at the energy plant.”

Astrotrain simply nodded, then glanced down at the two femmes who were still seated. He largely ignored Firestar’s resolute stare as she turned her head to observe him; instead his gaze lingered on Moonracer’s eager yet worried expression for a few moments before he looked back at Chromia. “I hear you’ve got a bigger problem,” he said.

Before Chromia could respond, Moonracer jumped up from her seat to stand beside the blue femme. “Elita’s been captured. You’ve got to help us find her – _please_!” she blurted out, almost pleading.

Astrotrain glanced at her, and Chromia couldn’t tell whether he was uncomfortable with the situation, or simply unsure. “Okay, look. I can’t make you any promises. Unless you know where they’ve taken her, we probably won’t be able to…” he began, but then faltered as he saw the look in the two femme’s optics, suddenly feeling sorry for them. They were stranded, the three of them on Alternity City with only each other for support, and now they’d lost their team leader. It was a miracle they were even still alive.

“Did you come here alone?” Chromia asked him as the thought entered her head.

He averted her gaze only long enough to look out the nearby window at the runway, where a couple of aircrafts were preparing for take off. He saw no benefit in withholding the truth from her. “No,” he said, purposefully. “I brought two friends along.”

His answer did not alarm Chromia nearly as much as it did Firestar. She stood up, finally, facing him in an accusatory manner. “Oh, that’s just great. Now look here, _Astrotrain_ , if this is some sort of trick, we’re not falling for it. You got that?”

Astrotrain turned his attention to the fiery red femme, her blue optics filled with a stubborn determination.

“Firestar!” Chromia rebuked her in disappointment, but Astrotrain interrupted before she could say anything more.

“Hey, it’s no trick,” he reassured them, seemingly unfazed by Firestar’s accusation. “Though I’d probably feel the same way, if I were in your situation. Look, it’s probably best if…” he trailed off, glancing behind him again, and remained standing there for a long moment, lost in some other world.

“Astrotrain?” Chromia ventured, but he wasn’t hearing her. Instead, he suddenly pushed his way past them to look out the window, his attention fixed on the skyline outside.

The three femmes kept their gaze on the Decepticon until he finally stepped away from the window and turned to face them again. “We’ve all got to get the frag out of here, _now_ ,” he said in alarm, his voice low yet forceful.

“What’s going on?” Moonracer questioned, concern evident on her face.

“No time to explain – just follow me,” he said to them, and began walking back towards the foyer, his pace quickening as he went. He stopped for a brief moment to wave them forwards. “Come _on_!” he urged, almost angered, before crossing the foyer and stepping through the entrance to the subway.

Chromia looked at Moonracer and then at Firestar, and knew that whatever decision she made next could either save their lives, or put them all in serious danger. In a move that was both spontaneous and spark-felt, she sprinted for the subway entrance. There was a moment of awkward silence between the two remaining femmes, and then they both broke into a run after her.

* * *

Thunderblast remained on the ground with her head leaning against the wall, unmoving, for well over half an hour. The anger and resentment she had felt towards Dirge and Astro and the other Decepticons before her unexpected encounter with Jhiaxus had been replaced by a clear-headedness that she had not had in a long time. She wasn’t sure whether or not her new frame of mind was exclusively a result of her recent, frightful ordeal, but one thing was certain: she had come face-to-face with her own mortality and had, somehow, survived it. Despite all her intentions and motivations, the experience had changed something, had awoken within her an innate, undefinable sense of purpose that had lain dormant ever since she had made the decision to become one of Sentinel Prime’s informants.

It was her natural talents that had allowed her to become involved in top level espionage and surveillance over the course of her stay on Alternity City, which meant that she had made many connections, some more valuable, or more dangerous, than others, and whilst Jhiaxus was one of those connections, he had never before treated her with such disrespect, and with such utter disregard for her life. She had often provided him with useful intel, had even offered to track down and deactivate various prized fugitives for him in the past, but he had never, _never_ turned on her before.

She recalled the time when he had first mentioned Comet to her, many stellar cycles ago. He‘d given her explicit instructions to track him, watch his every move, and then to report back what she had learned. Her mission had been highly top secret, and she had not been allowed to divulge any sensitive information about Comet to anyone but Jhiaxus himself. She had also been instructed to befriend the seeker and offer him false information, along with news from Cybertron, so that he would be ever dissuaded from entertaining the notion that he should leave Alternity City – and, indeed, her mission had proven successful, for the most part. There had been times when she had almost lost him; his erratic moods and tendency to attract unwanted trouble at the most inopportune moment meant that he had not always been easy to keep track of.

She knew that, should Comet ever become more of a liability to the High Commander of the Hitec base, or even to the leader of the Neutrals, than he was of value to them, Jhiaxus would give her the order to terminate him – code 187. She also knew that that day was probably fast approaching but realized that, regardless of her best efforts to remain detached about her mission, she had developed a certain fondness for the rebellious seeker and did not particularly wish to see him killed. Even so, she had been prepared to carry out her orders, despite any feelings she might have had for him.

Now, she wasn’t so sure anymore. Something about Jhiaxus’ cold stare, devoid of all consideration for anyone but himself – his unending quest for power and the pleasure he derived from the suffering of others – had struck some part of her conscience that she could no longer ignore. Even as he had pinned her against the wall, his nose tip almost touching hers, the sum of her life had flashed before her processor, and she had been confronted with the truth of her own existence. She had not been ready to die, and certainly not by Jhiaxus’ hand, and as she lay there on the ground afterwards, sobbing, realization had hit her. Her life, her purpose for being, had no meaning. What real worth had she ever been to anyone? What difference had she ever truly made, in any mech’s life? She would be kidding herself if she thought, even for a moment, that Sentinel Prime cared for her, regardless of how much he had told her that he valued her not only as an associate, but also as a close friend. However, the thing that had frightened her most had been the realization of seeing her own reflection in Jhiaxus’ optics, and that if she continued on her current path she would end up just as cold and empty as he was.

Slowly, cautiously, she stood up and looked about her. The street where she had been intercepted by Jhiaxus earlier was filled with pedestrians and ground vehicles going about their daily business, completely oblivious to her existence. The main flow of traffic was headed towards Binaltech, and so she stepped back out into the moving stream and began to run in the opposite direction.

* * *

“Easy, now… easy.” The Autobot Chief Medical Officer checked the readout on the monitor again and then glanced down at Groove’s still form, watching him intently. Red Alert had successfully made the connection to Groove’s autonomous processor and was ready to begin feeding selected stimuli into the patient on Ratchet’s signal. The Protectobot was hooked up to specialized neuro linking equipment, while Red Alert stood closely by with controller in hand. Arcee was seated beside Groove, holding his hand and ready to offer her assistance.

Groove had been induced into a semi-lucid state, and looked as though he might be dreaming; he seemed to be mostly at peace, though his expression also revealed a hint of his troubled consciousness.

Ratchet cycled air deeply, waiting for precisely the right moment to begin the painstaking process of reconstructing his lost memory. Every step had to be timed just right, or it would simply fail to work. “All right, Red, get ready to do exactly as I showed you, on my mark.”

“Ready,” Red responded, and then watched as Ratchet monitored Groove’s signals. After several seconds the chief medical officer indicated for him to proceed with a careful nod, and Red immediately activated his controller.

“Not too much,” Ratchet instructed. “That’s good. Hold it there for a klik.”

The three of them watched intently, waiting for any sign that showed that Groove’s processor was successfully receiving the simulated emotional impulses and that, if so, they were being processed through his autonomous system. With guidance this would, in turn, rebuild associated memories that would then be relayed through his sensory circuits.

Satisfied, Ratchet indicated for Red Alert to increase the intensity of the stimulus. “A little more,” he said, “keep going.” Groove continued to lie still until finally he flinched, turned his head to the side. “All right, hold it.” Ratchet motioned to Red by holding up a hand, then nodded to the femme. “Go ahead, Arcee.”

Arcee looked at Groove sympathetically and then began to speak to him, guiding him with her gentle voice, her hand still holding his. “Groove, can you hear me? Groove, it’s me, Arcee. I want you to let me know if you can hear me, okay?”

Groove stirred, and then grunted, strained to speak. “Ar… cee,” he said.

“Yes, I’m right here. Now, I want you to focus on my voice. I want you to try to follow me exactly. Can you do that for me?” she continued, her voice soothing and reassuring.

“Uh…” he replied, and then slowly nodded his head. His optics were dimmed and his responses strained, but at least he was aware of her.

“Ok, good. Now, I want you to know that you’re safe. No matter what you might see, or hear, or feel, I want you to know that you’re always safe. Nothing can harm you. Do you understand that?” Arcee said, speaking as softly yet as firmly as possible.

“Uh… huh,” he responded, before becoming still again.

Arcee paused, and silence settled around the med bay as the three of them prepared for the next step. She knew that what she had to do was not easy, not for Groove or her or any of them, and she braced herself, reminded herself that she needed to stay strong throughout the process, no matter how Groove might react. None of them had any idea what he had actually experienced the night of his attack, and she had to prepare for the worst. She glanced over at Ratchet, who looked back at her with a steady gaze, his expression resolute. Then he simply nodded, indicating that she should continue. She turned back to the patient, squeezing his hand. “Groove, I want you to tell me how you’re feeling right now.”

There was a pause as Groove processed her request. “I… I’m not sure,” he said uncertainly. She was about to try and probe further into his state of mind, but then he continued. “I’m… scared… Arcee… there’s… something’s wrong.”

Arcee kept her gaze focused on Groove. It was vital that she remained in control of the situation. “Do you know where you are?”

He stirred, and his brow furrowed in troubled confusion. “I think… I’m in Iacon.”

“Okay. Okay, that’s good.” She paused as Red Alert adjusted the sensory input, and then resumed her questioning. “Groove, I want you to look around and tell me if there’s anybody there with you. Can you do that for me?”

Silence began to fill the room as Groove took his time to process the request. “No one… I’m alone,” he said finally.

“Can you tell me how you’re feeling now? Are you still feeling scared?” Arcee ventured. “Remember, nothing can hurt you.” Groove’s expression became troubled, and he began to turn his head from side to side as if he were looking for something that wasn’t really there. “I want you to try to stay calm, okay?” she continued. “Groove, tell me what’s happening around you.”

Groove began to inhale sharply, his inhales uneven. “There’s… someone behind me,” he said, his voice strained. “I’m… I think I’m being followed.”

Arcee nodded, happy with the results thus far though she feared that the worst was yet to come. Speaking carefully and slowly into his audial sensor, she continued. “You’re doing really well, Groove. I want you to tell me what’s happening. Do you see anyone now?”

The Protectobot was unresponsive at first, but when he finally spoke his voice was barely audible. “There’s… three of them… Neutrals. They… want to talk to me.” Then his expression showed confusion, and he shuddered involuntarily but said nothing further.

Arcee looked back at Red uncertainly, and then at Ratchet _,_ but before she had time to properly assess Groove’s words the patient suddenly became agitated, his entire frame shuddering continually. Arcee refocused her attention on the patient. “Groove? Groove, can you hear me?”

“Nyah… uhh.” Groove was suddenly in obvious distress, his utterances unintelligible. He could only manage to speak a few words. “They… they’re… no… no–”

“Groove, tell me what’s happening,” Arcee insisted. “Groove!”

But the Protectobot was losing focus. He began to cry out for help, reaching out at something that only he could see, seemingly oblivious to all other input.

“Damn it, his module’s overloading. Shut it down,” Ratchet said, rushing to lean over the berth. “Shut it down!” he repeated, looking up at Red, and the former security officer rushed to comply.

Arcee tried to calm the erratic patient, stroking his forehead as she held him down firmly against the berth until his sudden outburst subsided. Then she stood up and took a step back, watching as Ratchet took over, checking the patient’s vital signs.

After several seconds, he stepped away from the berth and sighed in relief. Groove lay motionless, his optics dimmed, returned to a state of peaceful unconsciousness. “He’ll be fine,” Ratchet told them, and then added, “Let him rest. We’ll try again tomorrow,” before he walked out of the med bay without another word.

*

When Arcee checked in on Groove a few hours later, two of his team mates were keeping him company. He had regained consciousness and was sitting up on his berth, listening quietly as they entertained him with stories of their recent adventures. Hot Spot and Blades turned to see who had entered the med bay and stepped back as Arcee approached, giving her room to walk around and check his monitor.

“How’s he doing, Arcee?” Blades asked, after she’d barely finished checking his monitor readout.

“He’s doing great,” she answered with a smile. “Now, why don’t you boys wait outside, just for a little while? I won’t keep him for long, I promise.”

Hot Spot motioned for Blades to do as she’d requested. “Oh, I know you’ll take real good care of him,” he said to the femme, and then left the med bay with his team mate after giving Groove and Arcee a final wave.

She turned back to Groove and took a seat beside him, offering him a reassuring smile. “You’re doing really well.” She paused, giving him a chance to reply, but he simply acknowledged her with a smile of his own. “You know, I’m here for you if you want to talk about your experience,” she said. Groove sat there for a good while, contemplating the events of his memory retrieval session. He seemed uncertain about how to respond so she tried a different approach, reaching her hand for his. “Have you told your team mates about what you’ve remembered so far?”

He shook his head, looking down at her hand. “No.” She nodded in acknowledgment, listening to his every word. “I don’t want to say anything, you know? Not until I know for sure what happened.”

“Of course,” she replied empathically. “Oh, listen, we’ve scheduled another session for you tomorrow morning, if you’re happy to try again.”

He looked up at her, his blue optics intense. “Arcee?” She waited for him to continue. “I was wondering. If – if I remember everything… and I find out who attacked me, what's going to happen?”

Arcee simply smiled back at him, ran her hand down his arm in reassurance. She wasn’t quite sure exactly what he meant, nor how to answer, so she decided it was best to play it safe for the time being. “You know what I think? I think that no matter what, you’re going to be just fine.” After a pause, she rose from her chair. “You should try to get some more rest.” Then she gave him one last reassuring smile before she made her way out of the med bay, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

* * *

It was Jazz’s second experience with the Decepticons’ teleporter. One moment he was standing in the control room, and then the next he’d found himself in a dark, underground pocket somewhere deep within one of Cybertron’s many sub-surface layers. He had momentarily lost consciousness during the transit but, unlike the first time when he’d found himself inside the holding cell with Streetwise, he had been more prepared and had recovered quickly as a result.

The four Constructicons immediately surveyed the space they found themselves in; Hook and Long Haul provided some illumination, as did Jazz, revealing a smooth-walled chamber that linked four intersecting tunnels.

The Decepticon leader immediately took command of their mission. “Scrapper?”

“I’m not picking up any individual signatures, only a faint energy reading. The Detention Banks should be two hundred mechano-meters down that tunnel,” Scrapper informed the group, pointing ahead.

Megatron, standing beside Jazz, noticed the leader of the Constructicons’ slight reservation. “‘Should?’”

“Well, according to our maps, but it doesn’t seem to be showing up on my scanner,” he explained.

Megatron indicated to the two Cassetticons who had been chosen to accompany them. “Go on ahead and report back what you find.”

Jazz watched them disappear down the tunnel; Ravage bounding ahead as Rumble sprinted after him. His own stored map indicated that Scrapper’s description of the location of the Detention Banks was accurate, but he, too, could not pick up a detailed layout of those co-ordinates.

Jazz followed Megatron and the Constructicons as they led the way down the tunnel, and after only a few minutes Rumble reappeared at the other end, running back towards them. “Megatron!” he said, stopping in front of the Decepticon leader and pointing back down the tunnel. “Megatron… the Detention Banks, they’re at the end of this tunnel but there’s some kind of barrier – I can’t get past it.” A few moments later Ravage reappeared as well, confirming Rumble’s findings after Megatron queried him.

When they all reached the end of the tunnel, Jazz saw that it terminated at a thick, heavy wall, with a sealed access way built into it. There was a small sign above the access that read ‘Quadrant Epsilon Penal Vault – High Level Clearance Only’. The barrier that Rumble had referred to was a visible, high-energy force field in front of the wall; any kind of weapons fire or explosive would be useless against it. The entire structure was impenetrable.

“I can’t scan through the force field,” Scrapper informed them. “It’s hard to tell how guarded the place is.”

“So, how do we get inside?” Hook asked, turning to Jazz for the answer.

“ _You_ won’t be able to.” Jazz reached out to touch one of the plain metallic panels that made up the tunnel wall beside them. As he did so, it slid back to reveal a control pad underneath. “But I can.” Then he input a high level clearance code, and watched as the energy barrier suddenly disappeared before their optics. Jazz then turned to speak to the small group. “I’ll go in first; see if I can disable the alarm from the inside.” Without waiting for acknowledgment, he stepped toward the access way and entered another code into the control pad set into the solid door. Like magic it yielded to his will, and he stepped through into the darkness beyond.

As the door sealed closed behind him, overhead lighting automatically activated as he walked inside. Looking around, Jazz thought that he was in an antechamber of some sort; spacious though minimally furnished. He noted a row of data banks against the opposite wall, along with several sealed doors beside them, and to his right a lone terminal was set into the heavy bulkhead. He walked over to it and inserted a probe into the input port from one of his fingertips, then waited.

His function as the Autobot’s Head of Special Operations granted him a high rank, which included high-level permissions to all Alliance controlled facilities on Cybertron. Not only did he possess the full set of clearance codes, but his clearance level was even above that of several senior officers. There were only very few areas that he could not get access to, though even then he had ways and means to circumvent the security protocols. So, as far as the Detention Banks were concerned, it was no problem for him. Indeed, the small group of Decepticons were very fortunate to have him on this mission, for without his help their chances of success would have been virtually nonexistent.

When he walked back out again a few minutes later the Decepticons were waiting for him, on the alert for any sign of unwanted company. “I’ve disabled the surveillance system, but we’ve got to be quick or someone might get suspicious.”

Megatron nodded, walking past him to lead the way into the Detention Banks. “Then, let’s not waste any time,” he said.

Once inside, Jazz showed them to the row of data banks along the back wall of the antechamber. “Those hold the records of all the detainees,” he told them. He was going to say something more, but instead entered his personal access code on one of the touch-sensitive screens and then stepped aside to allow Scrapper access to the records. The leader of the Constructicons stepped forward cautiously, as if he were afraid that he might discover something in those records that he was not prepared for. “Go ahead,” Jazz encouraged him, noticing his hesitation, and Scrapper reached out to touch the screen with his fingertip. He was presented with a menu of options, and he began to narrow down his search by first organizing the list of detainees by allegiance. It did not take him long to sort through the database and retrieve the wanted records.

Rumble, who stood by Scrapper’s side, looked up at him intently. “Is he here?” he asked, his voice trembling slightly.

At first, Scrapper did not respond as he continued to study the list of entries, but then he stepped away and glanced down at the Cassetticon. He shook his head sadly, then met Jazz’s gaze before turning back to the screen, but did not say anything. His visor and face mask concealed his expression, though Jazz sensed his uneasiness.

The black and white Autobot looked back at the display and studied the list that Scrapper had brought up, before pointing to the entries. “These guys right here… that means they’re being held in stasis. But they’re alive,” he informed them, interpreting the cryptic data beside the names of the detainees. Megatron stepped forward to study the list of names, and Jazz continued. “It says that they’re in Vault 3.”

Long Haul began to pace the row of doors beside the data banks until he came to a stop in front of one of them. “Over here,” he informed his team mates.

Scrapper looked up as Jazz walked over to Long Haul and activated the sealed door to the vault with a high-level access code. Again, it slid open without protest. As Jazz stepped inside the vault the automatic lighting came to life, revealing an immense space that was filled with rows upon rows of vertical containment units. A few of the units contained prisoners in stasis, though most were empty.

In silence, each Decepticon took an isle and began to scan the rows of units, looking for the familiar forms of their imprisoned friends. Jazz started to walk down the first isle, helping them with their search, but soon stopped in front of one of the pods. He had to take a closer look at the motionless form inside the unit, and was taken aback by what he saw. He stood very still, staring at the prisoner in front of him.

“Jazz?” One of the Decepticons was calling out his name from another isle. “Jazz? We found ‘em!” He noted that it was Rumble, but he was still too much in shock by what he’d just discovered to respond. He must have been in quite a state, because it wasn’t until the sound of Megatron’s voice startled him back into the present moment that he realized that both Megatron and Rumble were standing right behind him.

“Jazz?”

“Huh? Oh.” He studied the containment unit one more time before following the Decepticon leader out of the isle.

The three of them rejoined the other Decepticons, who had been waiting in one of the isles, and Scrapper pointed to a row of five prisoners. Jazz quickly opened up the control panel on the first unit and input a high level clearance code to initialize the process that would bring the prisoner out of stasis. Moving quickly, he didn’t stop until he’d repeated the procedure for the other four detainees. “That all of them?” he asked quickly, well aware that time was running short.

“Yes,” Megatron replied.

They all watched in earnest as each prisoner began to stir awake inside his pod, the automated process of deactivation of their stasis modes controlled and regulated by the containment units themselves. The process took about a breem to complete, after which the transparent panel on the front of each pod unlocked and then retracted.

The first detainee, now fully conscious, was helped out of his unit by Hook and Bonecrusher. “Uhh… where… am I?” he said, recognizing the Decepticon leader. “Megatron?”

“It is good to have you back, Onslaught,” Megatron replied, and Jazz noticed a look of elation on the Decepticon leader’s face, overshadowed with concern yet unmistakeable.

Onslaught slowly looked around him, still disoriented from his long detainment in stasis as he tried to make sense of his surroundings, and it slowly began to dawn on him that he was inside a Detention Center. Noticing the Autobot nearby, he gave Megatron a quizzical look. “What’s happening?” he asked.

“There’s no time to explain. We must leave,” Megatron told him. As the other four prisoners regained consciousness, they were also helped out of their units, and then they were all heading back out of the vault.

Jazz lingered behind, watching them leave, and Megatron looked back at him expectantly. “Are you coming back with us?” he queried, still obviously pleased that five of his Decepticons had been returned to him alive and well.

“There’s one more,” Jazz said simply, indicating back down the first isle behind him.

Megatron nodded in understanding. “We’ll wait for you outside,” he said, before exiting the vault after the other Decepticons.

Jazz turned and walked back down along the first isle, until he was standing in front of the prisoner. Then, after a brief moment of contemplation, he deactivated the stasis mode on the containment unit.

* * *

It was almost the end of the recharge cycle. Groove had managed to catch up on a few more hours of recharge, but the thought of undergoing another memory reconstruction procedure in less than an hour was keeping him awake. He sat up and swung his legs over his berth, before standing up and making his way to the med bay doors. Glancing about, he began to walk down the hall.

He had no particular place to go, and just needed to clear his head. He had spent a lot of time in the med bay ever since he had awakened from his semi-stasis condition and needed a change of pace, but a brief walk would also give him the opportunity to consider the recently restored memory from his first reconstruction session. He remembered admiring the Crystal Gardens in south-central Iacon on a beautiful, quiet night under the stars, and thought about heading out there now, but then reconsidered – he did not want to be late for his morning session. He needed to find out what had happened to him, and wondered about the three Neutrals from his memory. Had they tried to save him that night? Or had their motivations been less than helpful? He had no idea. He did not yet have enough information.

As he approached the main recreational area on the ground floor of the Command Center he stopped short, lingering in the hallway. A group of mini-bots were seated together at one of the tables. He didn’t really feel like interacting with anyone and only wanted to be alone, so he turned back the way he had come. That’s when he saw the large silhouette of a mech standing in the hallway, watching him. As he walked closer towards the figure, he realized that it was Sentinel Prime.

“Hello, Groove. How are you feeling?” the red and black mech asked him.

“Oh, fine. The neuro linking procedure is really helping me to remember what happened…” he began to reply, but trailed off as Sentinel’s expression suddenly turned cold.

“The what?” Sentinel gave him such a stern look that he thought he’d melt beneath the former Prime’s gaze, and he became aware of a sudden chill in the air that made him involuntarily shudder. He didn’t know why, but he suddenly had the urge to get as far away from the Neutral leader as possible.

Averting his optics, Groove began to walk past the larger mech on his way back down the hall until he thought Sentinel had shifted his focus away from him, and then instinctively broke into a run.

He did not stop running as he rounded the corner, and almost collided with another mech, but the Autobot caught him by his arms. “Hey, Groove,” the mech said. “Take it easy.”

Groove relaxed when he realized who it was. “Hi, Sideswipe.”

Sideswipe released his grip on him and stepped back, studying the Protectobot. “It’s good to have you back. Are you okay?”

“Uh, yeah… I’m, I’m okay,” he said, though he didn’t sound too convincing.

“You sure you’re okay?” Sideswipe said. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Then he looked up as a mech appeared in the hallway behind them.

Groove glanced briefly over his shoulder before turning back to Sideswipe. He tried to hide his fear, but his optics gave it away. “Yeah, I’m fine. Listen, I’ve got to go. I’m expected in the med bay,” and then hurried down the hall without waiting for his response.

Sentinel Prime drew closer until he stood beside Sideswipe. “What did he say to you?”

The red and black Autobot warrior continued to stare into the empty hallway after Groove. His reply was emotionless. “Nothing.”

Sentinel did not speak for a long moment. “Keep a close optic on him,” he said finally. Sideswipe turned to face him, his expression impassive, and held out a hand, his frame shuddering imperceptibly from the low concentration of nucleon in his fuel lines.

With a satisfied smirk, Sentinel handed him a vial of the green powder, and then watched him walk away in silence.

*

Red Alert set the neuro link controller to the required input information, and then waited for Ratchet to give him the go ahead.

The Chief Medical Officer had not spoken since he’d started the procedure; he was intent on making sure that the timing was exact, watching and waiting for the readout on Groove’s monitor to display the right combination of signals. He was determined to make sure that Groove’s memory module would not overload this time. Finally, he gave a small nod in Red’s direction and, as the assistant medical officer carefully increased the sensory input information into Groove’s processor to the predetermined intensity level, Ratchet walked around the berth to sit beside the semi-conscious patient. “Groove, tell me if you can hear my voice.”

Groove stirred at the sound of the senior medic’s gravelly voice. “Uhh… hear you.”

“Good.” He briefly glanced across at Arcee, who was ready to do whatever was asked of her at a moment’s notice. “Now, I want you to go back to the night that you were attacked. You thought you were alone… it was dark outside. You said you saw three Neutrals. I want you to describe to me exactly what happened.” Ratchet kept an optic on the monitor readout as he continued to study the patient’s responses.

Groove’s expression turned into a grimace, but he seemed to maintain control. “I… I thought someone was following me. I… I think I panicked, reached for my weapon…” There was a long pause, as Groove struggled with the jumble of images and sounds that began to flood into his memory module. “They… they told me to put it away. That they weren’t going to hurt me.”

“Who, the Neutrals?” Ratchet asked.

“Uh, yeah.”

“Can you describe them for me?”

Groove took some time to respond. “They… look a lot bigger than I expected. Taller… one of them’s really tall.”

“Okay, good,” Ratchet said. “How are you feeling now?”

The Protectobot furrowed his brow, trying to find the right words. “Mmmh… I don’t like it. There’s something about them. Uhh… I don’t like them. Don’t want to be here.”

“This is only a memory. No one can hurt you anymore. Do you understand me?” Ratchet said with asserted authority in his voice. “Now, tell me what happened next.”

Groove inhaled deeply, his frame shuddering ever so slightly as he lay on the berth, but then he settled back into the memory. “They… they thought it was funny… that… that I had thought they were ‘Cons… Decepticons. One of them… he said… he said he wished… I was one.”

“One what? A Decepticon?” Ratchet prompted, a look of slight puzzlement on his face.

“Yeah.” Groove said nothing more for a long moment, and then continued. “One of them… he wanted to know… my name... I told him, Groove… and… asked… his.”

“Uh huh. That’s good. You’re doing really well.” The red and white Autobot medic inhaled deeply. “Keep going.”

Groove was so immersed in his memory experience that he was receiving sounds and images far more vividly now, and his frame reacted in response. He shook involuntarily, turning his head from side to side as if he were deeply troubled by the details of the reconstructed memory. “They… said they don’t have names… thought it was funny.” A slight pause as silence filled the room, before Groove resumed his verbal account. “They… thought they heard someone… nearby… but there isn’t anyone else around.”

“Good. Now, I want you to tell me…” Groove heard Ratchet say, but then the medic’s voice seemed to fade away into the background until all he could see and hear were those critical few moments that followed.

_‘It’s not wise for any mech to be out all alone. Any of us would be forgiven for making the simple mistake of thinking that you were a ‘Con.’_

Groove could clearly see the largest of the three Neutrals: the golden faction symbol emblazoned on his chest; the corners of his mouth curled into a snarl; his cold, yellow optics staring back at him.

_‘You can’t touch me… I’m… I’m an Autobot. We’re supposed to be…’_

But his words fell upon deaf audial receptors, and he found himself desperately wishing for his team mates.

_‘Aw, don’t worry… this’ll be over before you know it!’_

Then he felt the Neutral grabbing his arms, saw his two companions point their weapons at his head, and then the most excruciating pain that he had ever experienced hit him, as the Neutral began to rip his body apart, forcing open various access panels and tearing out several internal components without remorse. And, in those critical moments, when all he could do was wait for his system to mercifully shut down so that he would not have to feel the agony of his ordeal any longer, he came to a raw and cruel realization of the immeasurable, insurmountable evil that lurked behind the Neutral mask.

He screamed; an incredible, spark-piercing scream that threatened to swallow all who could hear it. Groove’s frame shuddered violently on the berth in response to the memory of his attack, forced to relive the last moments as he sought desperately to get away from his aggressors.

Then the pain and the memory of the assault began to fade, and he felt his consciousness pull away from the experience, his mind mercifully separating from the reality of it. He could no longer see his Neutral attackers, or the street where the horrendous attack had taken place, nor even the night sky above. The sounds of that terrible night faded also, until all he knew was a soothing blackness, and the peace that it brought him.

“Groove… Groove!” Another voice slowly came into focus. It was a feminine voice; he recognized it as Arcee’s.

“Disconnect the neuro link.” Ratchet’s voice nearby.

Then Arcee again. “Groove, can you hear me? Groove?” He felt her hand on his arm, gently shaking him, and he tried to speak.

“Uhh… Ar… cee.” Carefully, slowly, he brought his optics back online and allowed his vision time to readjust to the real world.

Arcee was leaning over him, while Red Alert watched him intently. He reached up a hand and grabbed Arcee by the wrist. “What happened?” he said.

The femme slowly sat down beside him. “You became non-responsive. Then you screamed out. We had to disconnect the neuro link,” she explained.

Ratchet stood on the other side of his berth looking down at him impassively. Then he spoke. “His stimulus response is stronger than I’d expected. We can try one more time, but I don’t want to risk it. I’m not sure how much more he can take.”

Groove tried to sit up, and was helped by Arcee. “No… Arcee… Ratchet,” he said, as he slowly began to recover from his frightening ordeal. “There’s no need to try again,” he explained, his air intakes overcompensating in an effort to rebalance his internal temperature. “I know what happened to me.”


	15. Chapter 15

The three Autobot femmes struggled to catch up with Astrotrain as he led the way down the undercover subway tunnel for several minutes, until he eventually slowed to a stop beside the mag-lev track. Two other figures emerged from the darkness, and Firestar held out a cautionary arm towards Chromia before the three femmes all came to a stop a safe distance away from the triple changer and his two friends.

Astrotrain spared no time for any introductions; instead he spoke in a low, rushed voice to his companions. “What’s happening?” He had received Astro’s radio warning a few moments ago, but wasn’t aware of the reason for the danger.

“It’s Jhiaxus,” Astro replied, glancing back down along the tunnel before momentarily resting his gaze upon the femmes. “And he’s brought a team of enforcers with him.”

“How?” Astrotrain asked, and Astro nodded towards the femmes, who stood looking back at them intently. “What do you want to do?” he then asked.

“Were you spotted?” Astro answered him with a question.

Astrotrain shook his head as he noticed Rook beside Astro, whose focus was concentrated on the femmes, as if they were some sort of curious fascination. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Alright. Let’s take the subway north,” Astro decided, and no sooner had he spoken than Astrotrain transformed into his train mode and positioned himself neatly on the subway’s magnetic levitation track, doing his best to blend in with the other carriages. Astro leaped from the platform and in through the opened door, then waved the femmes inside. “Come on,” he said to them.

Chromia hesitated, looking back at the unfamiliar Decepticon who waited for her and her team to join them, and she couldn’t help but wonder whether she had made the right choice; however, there was no time for her to second guess her decision now. The smaller, green and white Decepticon waited impatiently for her and her two companions to embark, and so she jumped aboard Astrotrain before him, followed by Firestar and then Moonracer. The Decepticon was the last to leap in after them, and the door sealed closed. Then they all began to move, picking up speed quickly as Astrotrain followed the track that led out of the Koltar Air Base, heading north. 

* * *

It wasn’t until the dwelling complex came into view that Thunderblast finally slowed to a stop and looked around. There was no sign of Astro, or Dirge, or any other Decepticon anywhere and she hesitated for a brief moment, thought about sending out a distress signal, but then decided against it. She looked out across the horizon, towards the north-east, and checked her internal map. The twin cities of Semplex and Megaplex were about a hundred mega-miles up ahead. If she began her journey on foot, she would arrive within the smaller of the two cities – Semplex – before twilight. Once there, maybe she would be able to find some place to stay for a little while, take a little time to think about what she was going to do next, now that Jhiaxus had made his intentions for her very clear. It didn’t really matter where she went; all that mattered was that she got as far away from Jhiaxus and Hitec as possible. Returning to Binaltech was no longer an option for her either, not if she wanted a fresh start.

But even spending half a day on foot was half a day too long; she did not want to give Jhiaxus any opportunity to follow her or find her again. She needed a faster way to travel, but unlike the other Decepticons she did not have the luxury of a jet alt mode. She didn’t even have a ground vehicle alt mode, like many Autobots. Instead, she had been blessed with a rather rare transformation mode – that of a speedboat – and whilst the function of a speedboat made her near invincible on water, it was rather useless anywhere else.

 _Water._ She rechecked her map, and found that she was in luck. Eager not to waste another moment, she broke into a sprint and turned into an adjoining street, heading north-west toward a main waterway that connected Binaltech to the twin cities.

* * *

As Astrotrain began to speed away from Koltar’s Air Base via the subway, Jhiaxus burst through into the waiting area through one of the large windows, shattering the silicate sheet into small shards and sending the pieces flying in all directions. A small group of bots, seated in the same spot where the Autobot femmes had been only a few minutes before, ducked and covered their heads in fear. Other mechs nearby attempted to run for cover, calling out for security as six menacing jets followed Jhiaxus into the waiting area, transformed into their robot modes and landed beside him, weapons drawn.

Their leader, and second in command of the Hitec base, looked around for any sign of the Autobots, whose signatures he had picked up unintentionally whilst trying to track down Dirge and his companions in the hopes that they would lead him to Megatron. If what Thunderblast had told him was true and Megatron was willing to hand over Astro for the exiled Decepticon Comet, it meant that the Decepticon leader was on Alternity City. Regardless, Jhiaxus was not interested in making a trade with him – instead, he intended to secure both Astro _and_ Comet, before finally destroying Megatron and, henceforth, putting an end to the Decepticon regime once and for all.

As far as the Autobot femmes were concerned, he would hand them over to Sentinel Prime; perhaps the Neutral leader would be able to use them as leverage in case their leader, Optimus Prime, came looking for his beloved partner, Elita One.

“Which way did they go?” he demanded menacingly, snarling at the panicking mechs and security personnel as they scrambled to escape, or defend against, him and his enforcers, but he got no coherent replies. Releasing an angry growl, he strode through the waiting room towards the foyer and looked around impatiently. Then he reached out for one of the guards and slammed him up against the wall. The look of shock and terror on the mech’s face was undeniable. “ _You_ … where are the Autobots?” he demanded. The mech shook his head weakly, mumbling something about not having seen any Autobots recently, and Jhiaxus released his grip on him. He became visibly relieved, but his reprieve was short-lived; without warning the large, yellow and white jet struck him violently with the back of his fist, and the mech collapsed to the floor in a shower of sparks, his head almost torn from his body.

Jhiaxus turned to his team of enforcers, who were waiting expectantly for their orders. “Search the area north.” All six immediately moved to action, transforming into their jet modes and flying back out through the shattered window of the waiting area. Glancing around, Jhiaxus contemplated his next move before striding through the entrance to the subway system and turning his attention to the inward bound carriage as it slowed to a stop beside the platform, carrying passengers from Binaltech. Ignoring the surprised looks and frightened glances of the commuters, he pushed past them and began to run along the track until, after several moments, he transformed into his jet mode and took off down the subway tunnel that led north out of the Koltar Air Base, keeping his altitude low.

* * *

The sensation of soaring high above the ground, then gliding across the clear, open sky was nothing short of exhilarating. This was the height of freedom, a precious gift from Primus that only flyers like Comet could ever hope to enjoy.

It was this very sensation that allowed Sunstreaker, as a passenger of the Decepticon’s jet mode, to have an understanding, and an appreciation, of the same.

At cruising altitude, he felt as though they were weightless, caught adrift in space with nothing around them but the twinkling stars above and the expansive, crowning splendour of the surface of Alternity City below.

Sooner or later, however, they would have to return to solid terrain, and it was with that sobering thought that Comet began to slowly descend. In the tranquil moments that followed, Sunstreaker cast his mind back to the time they’d spent inside the secure recycling facility, where he had encountered the seeker. Something that Comet had said had stuck with him, and he began to struggle with it now, as his memory of the event replayed in his mind. It was just before Comet had taken him offline so that he could repair his linkage. “Can I ask you something?” he said finally, breaking the peaceful silence. Comet did not respond, so he thought it’d be safe to continue. “Back at the scrap metal plant, just before you repaired me… you told me you knew who I was.” Sunstreaker paused, waiting for a reaction, but he received none. “What did you mean by that?”

After a few moments Comet spoke, but it wasn’t to answer his question. “Where are we going next?” he said simply.

Sunstreaker peered out of the canopy. He really had no idea where they ought to go next, other than as far away from Hitec – and probably Binaltech – as possible. “I dunno. How about that city down there?” he said, indicating the closest built-up area below them, as the ground got closer with every mechano-meter of their descent.

“That’s Megaplex,” Comet confirmed.

“Megaplex… is that okay?”

“It’ll do.” Comet banked slightly as they approached the larger of the twin cities, and seemed to glide upon the air as if he weighed not more than a feather. “Not as interesting as Binaltech, but it has its plusses.”

“Such as?”

“Such as, it’s free of any Neutral outposts.”

“That’s definitely a plus.” The Autobot fell quiet again, enjoying the view, but then remembered that Comet never answered his earlier question. “You don’t want to tell me, do you?” he said abruptly.

“Tell you what?”

“What you meant when you said that you knew who I was,” Sunstreaker repeated.

“Oh,” Comet’s voice came through the cockpit instrument panel, sounding doubtful.

Sunstreaker waited for him to say something further, but he didn’t. The jet’s reluctance was beginning to irk him, so he decided to get straight to the point. “Your name’s not really Comet, is it?”

In the awkward silence that followed Sunstreaker began to regret his bluntness, but then Comet gave him a response. “Why do you say that?” He sounded genuinely confused.

With a small shrug, Sunstreaker kept his gaze on the scenery below. “Ah, I don’t know. It just seems kind of odd that you’d know who I am but I don’t know who you are.” As he thought about the best way to put forth his latest theory about Comet, he caught sight of a group of figures flying below them. They appeared to be circling wide above the city, as if searching for something. “So I had this crazy idea. You wanna hear it?”

Comet suddenly gained speed, turning sharply to the north. “Save it for later. We’ve got six small problems we have to deal with.” Even before he’d finished speaking, the six enforcers had spotted him, and they began to incline sharply upwards to intercept. Comet had pre-empted their move several moments earlier, and rolled himself into a sideways position as he continued to descend into Megaplex, avoiding a sudden barrage of laser fire targeted straight at him.

The laser assault continued relentlessly, the enemy jets aggressively pursuing Comet as he weaved through high rise buildings and around spires, and there was nothing Sunstreaker could do to help but hold onto his seat and prepare for whatever was going to happen next. It quickly became apparent that Comet was a highly skilled flyer, and could probably outmanoeuvre some of the best among Hitec’s legion. Still, six of them against only one of him was pushing the limits of his luck.

As Comet dived beneath a bridge, tearing through the air at top speed, his pursuers broke away only to reconverge further up ahead, above a narrow laneway, and with nowhere else for him to escape, Comet crashed through the window of a multi-storey building.

A few moments later, several torpedoes were released into the structure after him, and then there was a magnificent explosion, followed by a shockwave that rattled the building’s foundations and vibrated several streets nearby. After it was over, there was nothing left of the building’s floor but a burned out husk, its interior reduced to molten metal and debris.

Once the last of the shrapnel had fallen down like rain all around the building and the dust had settled enough to regain some visibility, one of the enforcers kicked his way through the shattered window, pushing aside pieces of shredded wall paneling and broken conduit in his path. There was no indication of struggle or movement at all amidst the rubble inside; smoke and sparks from damaged circuitry were the only signs of life, and he seemed satisfied. "There's no way he could have survived, but we'll return to pick up what's left of him. Let's go," he told the other enforcers, leading the way as he transformed back into his jet mode and took off for the open sky once more, having been summoned by his Commander.

* * *

The flat launching pads and smooth runways of the Koltar Air Base soon gave way to a sprawling, urban landscape, visible through sections of transparent wall of the subway tunnel. Chromia watched from Astrotrain’s front view screen in silence as the train sped along the track at high speed, and couldn’t help but wonder whether Elita was alright. She didn’t know what she would do if they weren’t able to rescue her, nor could she bring herself to face that possibility. So, instead, she forced herself to stay focused on the situation at hand.

Her two best friends, Firestar and Moonracer, were seated opposite the two other Decepticons inside Astrotrain’s passenger compartment, though none of them had spoken much since they’d left the Air Base. Chromia had never seen these two Decepticons before, and had no idea who they were; she also thought it safe to presume that neither did Racer nor Firestar. The taller, blue mech certainly looked Cybertronian in design, and other than his well-built frame there was no visible indication of his Decepticon allegiance. The smaller, green and white mech beside him sported a red visor that concealed much of his expression, though his mouth was set into a grimace.

Walking back to join the others, she took an empty seat between her two best friends; Firestar had her arms crossed in front of her, and sat watching the two Decepticons with critical optics. Moonracer, on the other hand, was more than a little curious about the two mechs and couldn’t seem to hide the sheepish look on her face.

Chromia took in a deep intake, cycling in air and then slowly releasing. “I’m Chromia, and this is Firestar… and Moonracer,” she said to the blue mech, indicating the two femmes on either side of her as she introduced their names. Firestar gave them no response, but Monracer offered a polite smile. Astro focused his gaze upon the three of them in a calm, self assured manner that told them he was in control, but said nothing. “And, uh, Astrotrain, he… he said maybe you might be able to help us,” Chromia added, but then stopped. She knew that she was taking a big risk seeking the help of these Decepticon strangers, and it made her feel a little self-conscious. Still, she had nothing to lose by telling them what she’d already told Astrotrain.

Astro said nothing for a long time. The vista outside the train turned to pitch black for a moment, before artificial lighting dispelled the darkness of the subway tunnel. Then his gaze settled upon the blue femme, his yellow optics staring into her vivid blue ones. “What happened to you?” he asked simply.

Chromia sat up straighter. “Well, we were at _The Gambler’s Den_ in–”

Her voice was drowned out by Moonracer’s as she jumped in, interrupting. “Oh, it was my fault,” she said. “I was – I mean, I wanted to try my luck at the tables, you know? And I was so caught up with the excitement of it all that I never thought…” She faltered, trying to stifle a sob with a hand to her mouth.

Chromia reached across to take her other hand in hers. “It _wasn’t_ your fault, ’Racer,” she assured her. “It wasn’t even your idea in the first place, remember?”

Moonracer fought to hold back her anguish as she shook her head in protest. “No, but I let Double fool me – oh, how could I have been so _stupid_?!”

Chromia patted her forearm in comfort, but said nothing further. Instead, she looked at Astro again. “There were six Neutrals. They just took her. We have no idea where she is, or – or even if…” She paused, hesitating, unable to complete the sentence.

The scenery outside the window of the carriage changed again, from the interior of an enclosed subway tunnel to an open, flat landscape and a distant city that loomed on the horizon. Astro seemed to carefully consider all that the femmes had said, and then he looked to Moonracer, curious. “Did you say Double?”

The green femme looked up at him with doleful optics. “Uh huh,” she replied, nodding in confirmation.

“Do you know who he is?” Chromia queried him.

Astro exchanged a glance with Rook before looking out the window at the scenery outside. He nodded slowly. “His name’s Double _dealer_ … he’s one of Sentinel Prime’s informants.”

Firestar turned her head to focus on the mysterious blue mech, optics widened in surprise, while the look on Chromia’s face showed both astonishment and dismay.

Moonracer, too, was momentarily shocked by the revelation, but she recovered quickly. “Oooh, I _knew_ it! Why, that – that piece of… good for nothing – _oooh_!” she exclaimed, expressing her anger and frustration at both Double, _and_ Sentinel Prime.

For the first time since she’d boarded Astrotrain, Firestar spoke, though her voice was unsympathetic. “What would Sentinel want with Elita?” She still did not trust these Decepticons nearly as much as Chromia seemed to, but so far they had not given her any reason to be suspicious.

Astro turned to face her and was about to respond when Astrotrain’s voice interrupted him. “I hate to cut your conversation short, but we have a problem,” he warned them.

The three femmes, as well as Rook, looked at one another in silent alarm as Astro stood up suddenly, moving swiftly to the front of the carriage. “What is it?” he asked quickly.

“We’ve got Jhiaxus on our tail,” Astrotrain informed him, pushing his alt mode to increase his speed.

Astro glanced down at the map on Astrotrain’s instrument panel and noted a small blip moving steadily up behind them. The closest city en route was only a few mechano-miles away. “Can you make it to Semplex?” he asked.

“I can try,” Astrotrain replied. “Hold on.” A sudden surge in acceleration jolted everyone aboard. Traveling at top speed along the subway track was no mean feat, though provided that he did not collide with another carriage at the next station, he should reach their destination in under a minute.

Astro moved fast, making his way back to the passenger compartment. Laser blaster in one hand, he held it pointing up towards the ceiling. “Get ready to move,” he told them, and Rook immediately sprung into action, retrieving his own blaster. The femmes were momentarily startled, but soon realized that they weren’t the ones the weapons were intended for.

Chromia rose from her seat and activated her grenade launcher, then gave the blue mech a tentative nod. “We’re ready,” she said, as Moonracer and Firestar followed her lead.

Astro stepped towards the rear view port and watched as the shape of a large jet came into view. He turned back to Rook and the femmes. “It’s Jhiaxus. We’ve got to lose him,” he explained, then paused to calculate their chances of evading the jet. With the femmes’ additional firepower, they should easily be able to take him down, provided he was unaccompanied.

The train began to approach the station platform as it entered into another undercover tunnel, and as it did so Jhiaxus pitched sharply upwards to avoid slamming into the tunnel entrance. In the same moment, he released two energy missiles towards Astrotrain, and they hit their target. In a hail of sparks and smoke, Astrotrain veered off track, but just as he was about to crash into the tunnel wall he reverted back into his robot mode, safely ejecting his passengers moments before he did so. His momentum caused him to slam hard against the wall. Coming to rest on his back, he lay motionless on the ground as smoke began to rise up from his left side, energon trickling from a gash in his shoulder joint to pool on the ground.

Astro called out to the others as he ran to assist the triple changer. “Cover us!” Looking Astrotrain over, he assessed the injuries as he helped prop him up to a sitting position. “You’re going to be fine. Come on, we’ve got to keep moving.”

Astrotrain met his gaze for a fleeting moment before attempting to stand with Astro’s assistance, struggling with the effort. He placed a hand over the gash in his shoulder. “Ugh. That bastard hit me,” he said. He had been lucky; his alt mode had offered him a fair amount of protection against the impact of the missiles.

Behind them, Rook and the Autobot femmes trained their weapons back at the tunnel opening, ready to launch a fusillade of firepower the very moment Jhiaxus showed himself, attempting to enter into the tunnel after them, but so far he was nowhere to be seen.

The lights of the station platform illumined the tunnel further up ahead, and Astro began to walk quickly towards it, picking up pace as Astrotrain recovered from his impact, following after him. A moment later, the femmes withdrew their weapons, turned and sprinted to catch up, with Rook bringing up the rear.

* * *

Semplex was a neat, urban city located directly alongside the wide watercourse, which curved its way around until it terminated into a series of rivulets that merged with the much larger city of Megaplex. On Alternity City, water was relatively scarce and a protected resource. There were no oceans or large bodies of water on the planet’s surface, only a handful of major waterways that connected the largest cities.

After having flown northward for almost an hour in their robot modes, Dirge and his team landed at the edge of the watercourse that formed the western-most boundary of Semplex. Looking out across the water, he could see only untamed wilderness beyond, while to the east, the sprawling super city of Megaplex dominated the skyline – though not as large as Binaltech, it was still impressive. They had managed to track the Cybertronian jet as far as Megaplex, but had then lost sight of it after it was pursued by a group of six unknown fliers.

“What now?” Ramjet asked, standing on a jetty beside Thrust, Bitstream and Acid Storm.

Dirge pondered their options for a brief nano-klik. “He’s probably in the mega city. We’ll find him, and then report back for further instructions.”

Just as he was about to head into Megaplex on foot, Thrust pointed to a small, fast moving figure out across the waterway. “Hey, what’s that?” The other four turned to look. It was rare for any mechanoid to travel along the watercourse without a ferry, unless… “Is that who I think it is?” Thrust said, his curiosity piqued.

Dirge walked closer towards the edge of the water, and then frowned. The figure was heading straight for them at a very fast speed. “It can’t be,” he muttered, grumbling, then looked about to make sure no one else had noticed. “She’s going to draw unwanted attention to herself, and _us_ ,” he said with disapproval.

“Should we get out of here?” Ramjet asked, dubious.

Dirge folded his arms across his chest, keeping his gaze fixed on the Cybertronian femme. “No.” Then he stood and watched as she approached the water’s edge. The sound of her speedboat engine grew louder as she got closer, and she moved so fast across the water that it almost looked as though she were skimming the surface. Then, just before she reached the jetty, she stopped suddenly and jumped into the air, transforming into her robot mode. The Decepticon jets moved back to give her room as she executed the perfect landing with feet firmly on the ground – except for Dirge, who didn’t budge from his spot. Glancing briefly at the five jets, she sized them up quickly before stepping forward to stand face to face with Dirge. She folded her arms across her chest, mimicking his body language. “Haven’t you learned your lesson yet, Thunderblast?” he said sullenly.

She gave him a pout, annoyed. “I need to speak to Astro,” she said defiantly, ignoring his provocation – most unlike her usual self.

“Yeah?” Dirge raised his brow in surprise. “What about?” he demanded.

“Look,” she emphasized impatiently, placing one hand on her hip. “I don’t have time to explain everything to you, _Dirgey_ ,” she said with as much sarcasm as she could muster, and he looked out across the horizon, turning aside his embarrassment. “But if you don’t want any of your pals to be captured and taken back to Hitec, you’ll let me speak to Astro, _now_.”

He could tell that she was serious this time, straight-talking and in no mood for games, so he slowly dropped his arms to his sides, glanced back at his team mates for a brief instant. “Astro isn’t here,” he answered sincerely. “Look, maybe I can help–”

She stared back at him in surprise. “If you think I’m ever going to believe _anything_ you say–” She began, but then stopped abruptly, sighing in frustration. “Just forget it. This was a big mistake – talking to you,” she said, and turned to leave, but a strong hand on her arm held her back.

“Hey, not so fast,” he said, spinning her around to face him. She tried to push him away but he maintained a firm grip. “Look… it wasn’t a mistake, okay?” Then he paused, hesitating for longer than he wanted to. “I’m… I’m sorry about what happened yesterday,” he finally said in a low, frustrated voice. It was a spontaneous, yet sincere, sentiment – one that had come up suddenly from some unknown place.

Thunderblast’s optics widened in surprise, but only for an instant, and she shook her head in annoyance. “Let go of me!”

He released his grip on her in a sudden show of irritation. “Fine!”

“Fine!” she echoed, and turned abruptly to leave. “See ya.”

“No, wait!” He cycled air deeply, long and drawn out. “Just – just wait a second, would you?” She hesitated, averting her optics, so he continued. “If you want to stick around, you can come with us back to Cybertron.” She slowly turned back to face him, and they all watched her expectantly, waiting to see her response. “I’m only offering once. Take it or leave it,” Dirge added.

“Wh… what?” Thunderblast was momentarily speechless. She wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly. “You… you want _me_ to…?”

Dirge nodded. “Yeah.”

“And you’re… leaving right now?” she asked, unsure.

He hesitated. “No. We’ve got to find Comet first.”

“Oh.” She paused in thought as she considered his offer. It was certainly tempting; it _would_ give her the opportunity to leave Alternity City behind and return home, to start over. If she turned him down, she may not get another chance like this one again. Still, she didn’t completely trust him, or Astro. Then, finally, she gave him a cautionary look. “Okay, but don’t think for one astro-second that this means I’ve forgiven you, Dirge.”

One corner of his mouth turned up in a satisfied smile, but then the distant sound of an explosion coming from somewhere within the mega city made him look back over his shoulder, alerted. “Come on,” he said cautiously, and began to walk towards Megaplex. His team mates followed after him, until she was the last one left standing on the jetty, watching them leave.

“Hey – wait up!” she called out, breaking into a sprint to catch up to them.

* * *

As the Decepticons gathered in the large meeting room further down the passageway to discuss their recent successful mission into Quadrant Epsilon and the recovery of their combatant team, the sounds of animated chatter drifted into the Constructicons’ work area. The additional presence and voices of the five rescued prisoners made the entire base feel far more spirited than it had been before, and the celebratory air was unmistakeable.

The work area doubled up as a repair bay, and its interior was shrouded in semi-darkness; it was quiet, and mostly empty – save for two mechanoids.

Jazz had opted to remain with the unconscious Autobot, who lay on one of the benches hooked up to some monitoring equipment. Scrapper had informed him that the patient had suffered some form of injury to his head just before he had been placed into stasis, which was the reason why he hadn’t immediately regained consciousness after Jazz had freed him from his stasis pod inside Penal Vault 3.

In the stillness of the room the Autobot stirred and released a low groan, and Jazz moved closer, watching intently as he waited for the injured mech to regain consciousness. His mind raced with thoughts, and so many questions, but he had to force himself to slow down, to take it one step at a time. He would need to allow the mech to sufficiently recover from the time he’d spent in suspension. Eventually, he would be able to learn what had happened to him, and in doing so perhaps many important questions would then be answered. Patience was key. “Hey, ‘Jack. It’s me, Jazz. Can you hear me?” he said softly, reaching out a hand to touch the Autobot’s shoulder.

The blue optics began to flicker to life, and Wheeljack turned his head to focus on the head of special operations. “J… Jazz?”

Jazz gave him a warm smile. “That’s me. Welcome back to the land of the living,” he said. “You’re going to be okay,” he added, wanting to reassure him. Taking a seat beside him, he kept his gaze focused on the Autobot.

Wheeljack attempted to sit up, but became alerted to an unpleasant sensation on the side of his head. “What… what happened?” he asked, alarmed, trying to determine his whereabouts, then carefully reached a hand up to touch his helm. Jazz did not immediately respond but continued to sit patiently by, allowing him time to work things out for himself. “Where am I?” the Autobot engineer asked again.

This time Jazz responded, though his tone contained no hint of alarm or cause for concern. “We’re in Polyhex, with the Decepticons.”

“Uh, with the… with the Decepticons…” Wheeljack echoed, though his expression gave away no indication of surprise or apprehension; rather, he seemed introspective, as if trying to figure something out. “Ah… I’ve got to tell Ratch–”

He began to get up off the bench with renewed purpose, but Jazz held him back gently. “Hey, now – take it easy. Looks like you got beat up pretty bad. You need to rest.”

Wheeljack looked up at him hesitantly, but then relaxed back down on the bench. He was quiet for a whole minute, deep in reflection, until finally he looked again at Jazz. “How long have I been out?”

“Probably longer than you think,” Jazz said after a beat, as he searched for the best way to break the news to him. “We, uh… we found you inside one of the stasis pods. In the Detention Banks, at the Quadrant Epsilon Penal Vault.” He watched as Wheeljack processed the information, careful to make sure that the Autobot engineer wouldn’t be overwhelmed all at once. Then he slowly shook his head. “You’re lucky I found you. Thing is – your name wasn’t entered into the record as a detainee. So, whoever put you in there, they did it without going through official channels.”

“You mean…” Wheeljack began, shaking his head in confusion, his helm panels lighting up gently as he spoke. He looked squarely back at Jazz, as if in sudden realization. “Wait – what’s the current star date?”

“It’s the 227th day of stellar cycle 143,602,” Jazz replied.

“No… no, no, it can’t be, it can’t–” Wheeljack was understandably upset, though Jazz had been prepared for such a reaction so he kept a gentle yet firm grip on his arm; he could only imagine how the engineer must have been feeling, knowing that he’d been kept in stasis for over a vorn, during a most critical time when his fellow Autobots had needed him most. The Plague, which had thrown all their lives into chaos more than one hundred years ago, would still be fresh in his memory. “How many?” he asked, obviously distraught. “How many… survived? Ratchet? Optimus?”

Jazz gave him a small shrug; he wasn’t sure about the exact number of plague survivors, but at least he could share with him the good news. “They’re fine. The Plague was completely wiped out, thanks to your research.” He paused, reflecting on the memory of those past events. “It’s just that, since you went missing… well, everyone thinks you’re dead.”

Wheeljack pondered the news with mixed feelings. “What about the proposed Autobot-Neutral Alliance?”

“Ah.” Jazz nodded in earnest. “Officially came into effect in 143,501.”

This seemed to shock the Autobot engineer more than anything else. “Sentinel Prime – is he… is he still leader of the Neutrals?”

Jazz nodded affirmatively, and then Wheeljack changed the subject in sudden realization of something. “I – I need to speak with Optimus.” Struggling to sit up again, he detached the cable that connected him to the monitoring equipment, and this time Jazz did not try to stop him.

“We can try to get a message to him, but it’s probably not a good idea for you to return to Iacon while Sentinel’s there,” Jazz advised, then paused in contemplation. “At least, not until we know who wanted you put away, and why.”

Wheeljack hesitated, rubbing his helm with a hand, and then shook his head. “Ah. You’re right – though I think I can answer both those questions.” He looked at Jazz with renewed determination. “Is Megatron here?”

Jazz helped him off the bench with a steady hand, nodding in the affirmative. “You sure you’re okay? Wouldn’t want you to overload your system before you’ve given yourself a chance to recover.”

Wheeljack nodded and slowly straightened to test his stability, stretching his neck while making small circular motions with his head. “Ah, I’ll be alright. Thanks, Jazz – for everything,” he said, and began to head towards the exit of the Constructicons’ work space. He peered out, hearing the trail of lively voices coming from the meeting room further down the passageway. “I’d like to speak with him now, if that’s possible?”

The black and white Autobot acknowledged him calmly. Then, extending a hand, he motioned for Wheeljack to follow him. “Right this way.”

* * *

Seated beside Groove’s berth, Ratchet had listened patiently to the Protectobot as he’d told his story. His expression was set into a grimace, arms folded across his chest as he processed the damning testimony and its far-reaching consequences. Red Alert and Arcee, both seated opposite him, listened in quiet shock, struggling to come to terms with the revelation in their own way. It was obvious to the Chief Medical Officer that they were shaken to their core, frightened and confused, and he knew that, as their senior officer, it was vital that he remained strong. Time, now, was of the essence. The decisions that he would make from this moment on would be crucial; every action he took from this point forward could mean the difference between the complete subjugation of the Autobots, beginning with those in Iacon, and the eventual defeat, and freedom from, a corrupt Autobot-Neutral Alliance.

Several minutes passed in silence after Groove had finished speaking, until Ratchet pushed himself up from his seat to guide Groove off the berth. Then he moved around and hurried to the back of the med bay, disappearing through a door that led into a small annexe. A few moments later he re-emerged and rejoined the waiting mechs, before placing both hands reassuringly upon Groove’s shoulders. The Protectobot had no choice but to meet his gaze. “It’s not safe for you to be in Iacon anymore. I want you to listen to me very carefully, and do exactly as I tell you.” Ratchet’s voice was firm, yet laced with urgency. Groove slowly nodded, and he continued. “I want you to go to Wheeljack’s old workshop and wait for me there.” He pushed an access chip into the Protectobot’s hand and forced his fingers closed around it. “This’ll give you security clearance. Don’t tell _anybody_ , and make absolutely sure that no one sees you.” Then he glanced over at Arcee and Red. “You two: go with him. And hurry, there’s no time to waste.” Releasing his grip on Groove, Ratchet began to make his way towards a storage unit in the back, but momentarily stopped in his tracks when he noticed that the three of them continued to simply stare back at him, unmoving. “Go, go!” he urged, waving for them to leave.

Arcee took a step toward him. “Ratchet, wait – what about you?” she asked concernedly.

The Chief Medical Officer hesitated. “Don’t worry about me. I’ve got a few things to take care of first. I’ll meet you there as soon as I can. Now, _go_!” And with that, Ratchet turned away from them and proceeded to frantically rummage through the storage shelves with a fervour and urgency that they had not witnessed from him before.

And so there was nothing left for the three of them to do but to follow Ratchet’s instructions. “Come on,” Red Alert said, leading the way out of the repair bay.

*

Carrying a small emergency repair kit in one hand, Ratchet quickened his pace as he approached the control room, keeping his gaze focused ahead. He stopped for no one, not even to acknowledge the casual nod or curious glance that was cast his way as he brushed past a handful of Autobot officers and Neutrals.

When he reached the end of the hall that led into the control room, he found just the mech he wanted to see and rushed up to grab hold of his forearm, startling him. “Prowl,” he said, manner urgent and tone persuasive, “we need to talk – _now_.”

The Chief of Security stared at him quizzically, though his annoyance at the rude interruption was also evident. “Can’t this wait? There’s a meeting in two breems–”

“No!” Ratchet could be very persistent when he wanted to be. “Trust me, this is important.”

Prowl sighed, and Ratchet let go of his arm. “Very well,” he said, and then indicated for him to follow with a sideways nod of his head. Entering a private briefing room, Prowl closed the door behind him before waiting for Ratchet to speak.

“There’s no easy way for me to say this… so I’m just going to come right out and say it.” Ratchet placed both hands on the table in front of him as he gauged Prowl’s reaction. “This Command Center, and every Autobot in it, is in immediate danger. I don’t have time to explain it all, but Sideswipe – even Sunstreaker, Jazz… they were _right_ , Prowl. We managed to restore Groove’s memory of his attack, and he’s confirmed what they’ve been saying. Everything they’ve been trying to warn us about – it’s all true, dammit!” He paused and looked towards the door to make sure that it was sealed closed, then lowered his voice slightly. “Listen to me – Sentinel Prime’s been co-ordinating a silent takeover right under our noses. And we just let it all happen. Now, I can’t prove it yet, but I think the Decepticons are innocent – and that’s not all. I have strong reason to believe that Sentinel was the one who helped engineer the Plague–”

“Stop.” Prowl said in a quiet voice, holding up a hand and interrupting him mid-sentence. He was visibly overwhelmed by what Ratchet had just professed, so much so that he had to slowly sit down to process the information.

Ratchet allowed him the time he needed, stepping back from the table and slowly pacing away. Prowl was not the only one who’d found himself struggling with the sheer incredulity of the situation, the enormity of its implications; truth be told he was finding it just as difficult, barely holding onto any modicum of self-assuredness.

And just like Ratchet, Prowl was left with many burning questions, questions that needed answers, but most of all he needed to know that there was still hope for the future.

When finally he was ready to speak, he rose from his chair, tone calculated and even. “Sentinel has authorized a meeting. It’s due to begin in a few minutes…” he stated, but then faltered as they both came to the same realization.

Ratchet turned back to face him, alarmed. “What authorization?”

“Priority one.”

The medical officer grimaced. “Dammit. I have a strong feeling he’s about to make his move. We need to warn Optimus.”

Upon hearing the words of warning, Prowl took a few moments to try to decide what they should do next. He walked towards a terminal set into the wall nearby and entered a series of commands to access the Command Center’s security protocols. Soon, the lighting on the terminal’s display began to blink on and off in silent caution. “It’s too late for that. I’m going to initiate a level two security clearance lockout.” He turned back to Ratchet, cycled air deeply. “But it will require a second authorization.” He seemed uncertain, as if afraid that he might be making a big mistake, but Ratchet rushed towards the terminal with no sign of hesitation.

The Chief Medical Officer quickly input his high level security code, then stepped back to allow Prowl to execute the lockout.

Before Prowl pressed the button on the terminal, he gave Ratchet his final instructions. “As you’ve stated, there isn’t much time. Take as many Autobots with you as you can, and get the hell out of here. Find help.”

“Come with us,” Ratchet urged him, but Prowl’s stoic expression told him that he had other plans.

“No, I must remain to help ensure your escape. Besides, Optimus will need me here.” He gave Ratchet a final reassuring nod before reaching for the button, activating the lockout.

Ratchet did not wish to leave anyone behind, but he knew that he had no other choice. There was precious little time left. “Good luck,” he managed to say, before activating the door and rushing out of the briefing room without looking back.

*

Continuing along the hall away from the Command Center, Ratchet caught sight of Sideswipe heading towards him and he rushed forward, blocking his path. “Sideswipe, listen. You were right about Sentinel Prime, and the Alliance. You were right about everything,” he admitted, his tone urgent. He glanced briefly behind him to make sure they were alone, and did not wait for the black and red Autobot to acknowledge him. “You need to get out of here. Prowl’s already initiated a security clearance lockout. This whole place’ll be shut down – you won’t be able to get in or out without a security override.” Sideswipe looked back at him with stone cold optics, giving him neither a response nor a reaction. It made Ratchet feel uneasy to be around him, despite the fact that the medic was accustomed to dealing with all sorts of physical and psychological handicaps. “Sideswipe? Sideswipe! Do you hear me?” He grabbed the Autobot by the shoulders and shook him, trying to get him to focus on his words.

“Yeah, I heard you.” Sideswipe did not try to pull away from the other’s grip, though his expression was unreadable.

“I think Sentinel’s going to try to take control, and Primus help anyone who won’t submit to his demands,” Ratchet explained. “Listen to me; I need you to gather as many Autobots as you can and get them out of here, do you understand?”

Sideswipe appeared to be completely lost in his own world; the news of Sentinel’s imminent takeover did not seem to register with him. Then his optics refocused on the medic. “I can’t.”

“You can’t? What do you mean? You can’t stay here–” Ratchet demanded. He noticed the increase in Sideswipe’s air intake as the warrior started to pull away.

“I’m – I’m sorry, Ratchet. For everything,” Sideswipe confessed, voice unsteady and burdened by an unspoken emotional turmoil. Then he released himself from Ratchet’s grip and began to sprint towards the Command Center, not looking back.

“Wait – Sideswipe! Sideswipe! Frag it!” Ratchet exclaimed in frustration as he watched him go, but it was no use. Reluctantly, he took a few steps backward before finally turning and running in the opposite direction.

* * *

One moment, blackness was all there was, and then the next, the feeling of being overwhelmed by the burden of despair, of lost hope, and of past regrets…

“I’ve always stood by you, Sunstreaker, but this is just too much!” Sideswipe only ever used his full name when he was angry. “The Autobots – we _need_ this Alliance – don’t you get it? It’s a _good_ thing! After all that we’ve been through – the Plague, the wars… you should be _happy,_ instead of looking for somebody to blame for your miserable life! I mean – don’t you ever ask yourself why no one likes being around you? What the frag’s got into you lately?”

Sunstreaker had heard enough, had let loose with his own words of anger. “Frag it, this isn’t about _me_. I’m telling you, I have a bad feeling about this whole Alliance thing, but it’s not just that. I saw Sentinel Prime talking to that _creep_ –”

“That’s no proof that he’s done anything wrong! He’s already done a lot for us, Sunny, and whether you like it or not you’ve got a responsibility as an Autobot officer to treat him with the _respect_ that he deserves!” Sideswipe had reprimanded him.

He’d shaken his head, had given up trying to convince his brother of his point of view. “So, that’s it, then? You’re not going to stand by me at my hearing?

Sideswipe had turned his back to him, looking up at the ceiling of their quarters. Then he’d answered with a trembling voice, “I’m sorry – I can’t. You’re on your own this time.”

The last words he’d spoken to Sideswipe had been the most painful, for the both of them. “Fine. Then I guess I don’t have a brother anymore,” he’d said, before walking out.

…Debris and chunks of metallic wall paneling pressed down on his frame, and he came online with a start. He yelled out in a sudden panic, his vision obscured, and pushed against the heavy weight with all his strength until the pile began to budge, pieces of destroyed paneling sliding to the floor. With a determined heave, he flung the last chunk of scrap metal off his frame and scrambled out from underneath a fallen support pylon.

Freeing himself from the rubble, he checked for any major injuries and was relieved to find that he had survived the assault relatively unscathed. “Comet?” he called out in alarm, but the Decepticon was nowhere to be seen, and nor were their pursuers.

Sunstreaker checked his chronometer, worried that maybe those six jets had returned for the Decepticon whilst he was still offline, but discovered that only about a minute had gone by since Comet had smashed his way through the window of the building in his jet mode. He remembered being ejected from Comet’s cockpit as the Decepticon had reverted to robot mode, right before the two of them had leaped clear of the incoming torpedoes, four of them in all. He’d landed face down on the floor, and had been partly protected by a large partitioning wall as the warheads had exploded, but as far as he could recall Comet had sought cover in the opposite direction.

He began to call out for the jet, frantically searching through the rubble as he picked up large pieces of broken pipes and beams and then threw them aside without paying heed to the commotion that he was creating.

After several minutes of searching to no avail, he was about to give up when the glint of a wing tip caught his optic, and he rushed over to the far corner of the ruined floor. He proceeded to clear away a bunch of frayed cables hanging loosely from a damaged control bank, as well as shards of broken silicate and pieces of jagged metal that had fallen on top of the seeker. “Comet? Comet!” he said, turning the seeker over and gently placing him on a cleared section of floor. But Comet was not responding. His optics were a dull, darkened red, and his face and outer armour were covered in scorch marks. He was also losing energon from several wounds. “Comet…” Sunstreaker looked around the wreckage of the building, searching for some place that he might be able to hide Comet in case those jets returned for him, but there was nowhere safe. He realized with frustration that he’d have to scout further out, possibly explore adjacent buildings for a suitable location. Then Comet stirred, groaning, and he snapped his attention back to his unlikely ally. “Comet? Comet?” Comet’s optics flickered as he slowly turned his head to face the Autobot, attempting to speak, but he was having trouble focusing. “Listen, you’re going to be okay. I’m going to go and find some help,” Sunstreaker said reassuringly, but then felt his forearm being gripped tightly by Comet. The strength in the Decepticon’s hand, even as he lay there in a critical state, surprised him.

“N-no,” Comet managed. “Go… leave… now.”

Sunstreaker’s optics narrowed in anger. “If you think I’m just going to leave you here to die, Decepticon–”

Comet’s grip tightened and he managed to lift his head slightly. “No, I need you to… tell them,” he said, locking optics with Sunstreaker’s. His voice was filled with conviction. “Tell… Megatron… I’m sorry.”

Sunstreaker had no idea what Comet thought he’d done to feel compelled to apologize, but right now it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that he made sure they would survive this ordeal so that Comet could return home to be with his own kind again. It was the least he could do for him, after all that had happened. No matter what Comet may have done in his past, Sunstreaker knew that this Decepticon had a good heart, and he deserved another chance. “Look, you can tell him yourself, because I’m going to get you out of here. You’re going to be fine.”

But Comet was too weak to dispute him. His grip on the Autobot’s forearm loosened and his hand fell limply to the floor, optics becoming dim once more. Then his head fell back to rest on the floor, and he became still.

* * *

The sight of several large, dark-colored jets moving away from the site of the explosion made Dirge glad that he had been advised to remain in robot mode, else he and his team would surely have been spotted and chased; the look in Thunderblast’s optics as she recognized Jhiaxus’ hench-mechs confirmed it.

By the time they’d reached the destroyed building a few curious onlookers had already gathered in a circle in the street, though they kept their distance.

“What happened here?” Dirge said as he pushed through the bystanders from behind, startling them, but they just shook their heads in confusion. He frowned at them, and then glanced back at Thunderblast, who hadn’t spoken a word to him since the jetty, but was suddenly alerted to the sounds of a mech frantically picking his way through the wreckage. Noticing the Decepticon jets, the mech ran towards them in what could only be described as desperation. An expression of curious surprise crossed Thunderblast’s face when she realized who it was.

“Sunstreaker? What are _you_ doing here?” She stared at him in disbelief as the tall, yellow-colored Autobot ran up to her, briefly noticing the group of jets standing beside her.

“Thank Primus. Comet needs help!” he blurted out. He did not appear to be worried in the slightest that he was the only Autobot surrounded by a team of Decepticons.

Dirge became immediately suspect. Why would an Autobot show concern for a Decepticon, and alone on Alternity City – a technologically-advanced planet that was renowned for widespread corruption, rival gangs and street crime? It was probably some sort of trap, or a possible ambush. He powered up his concussion missile launcher and pointed it at Sunstreaker threateningly. “You must have a death wish, Autobot,” he said.

Sunstreaker hesitated, as the other jets also began to draw their weapons, but then Thunderblast stepped in between them, unafraid of Dirge or his team mates. If she could have rolled her optics, she would have. “Would you put those away?” she admonished, hands on hips. “Surely, Dirgey isn’t afraid of a lone Autobot?” Dirge scowled but then backed down, allowing the femme to speak to the Autobot, and she didn’t waste any time. “What happened?” she asked Sunstreaker.

He pointed up at the shattered window of the building some four levels above them. “We were chased by six black jets, and we crashed straight into that building. Comet got hit. We’ve got to get him somewhere safe, in case those goons come back for him.” When Sunstreaker finished speaking, Thunderblast looked up at the charred remains of the building’s fourth floor.

“Those _goons_ are probably Jhiaxus’ enforcers,” she told him, and then looked back at Dirge and his team. “Well, are you coming or what?” she demanded, waving them forwards as Sunstreaker began to lead the way toward the building. Then, without waiting for them, she sprinted ahead to catch up to the yellow mech.

Reluctantly Dirge began to follow the two of them inside, though he remained on the alert with a tight grip on his launcher.

* * *

If Sentinel Prime had not specifically requested for the meeting to be held on the ground floor of the Command Center – or had not ordered two guards to be posted at every entranceway, including at the Center’s grand entrance with weapons at the ready – the Autobots present would not have been alerted to the fact that something was amiss. However, by the time the meeting had officially begun, it was already too late.

Those who had taken heed of Ratchet’s warning had fled the Command Center only minutes beforehand. Among them were Trailbreaker, Hot Rod, Hound, Smokescreen and Bluestreak. The remaining regulars, including Ironhide, the Aerialbots, the four remaining Protectobots, and the mini bots, had either missed out on the warning or had outright refused to leave, for various reasons.

In addition, the Autobots who had chosen to remain and attend the meeting despite being aware of Sentinel’s intentions were Prowl, Sideswipe, and Optimus Prime.

The Autobot leader had kept a low profile ever since he’d spoken about stepping down at the last meeting, preferring to remain in his quarters rather than join the senior officers in discussing latest events. He had become withdrawn, for the most part, and unresponsive to the petitions of the Autobots in Iacon regarding the situation with Sideswipe – who had been behaving erratically as of late – or the fact that Sentinel had recently reassigned several Autobots from Antihex to Iacon’s Command Center. The regulars had begun to complain that Sentinel was taking an undue interest in the operation of the Center, and that he had asserted his authority on several occasions when he’d had no prerogative to do so. But Optimus had refused to do anything about it, much to the chagrin of the Iaconian Autobots.

“Ah, it is good to see that you are all here,” Sentinel began, once they’d all quietened down enough to hear him speak. He was flanked by several Neutral guards, but also Sideswipe, who stood watching them all with that same cold, impassive expression he’d shown Ratchet earlier. “Now, we have a very busy schedule ahead of us, and there is much to be done, so I’ll keep this as brief and painless as possible.”

Sentinel cast his gaze across the large entrance hall to settle upon Optimus Prime, who stood beside Ironhide, and smiled to himself in satisfaction. “From this moment forth, I am taking command of this outpost, and each of you shall report directly to me.” Of course, he’d been prepared for the ensuing confusion and outrage, mostly coming from the regulars, which suddenly filled the space. However, the Neutrals and Antihex Autobots present said nothing, but watched with approval as Sentinel’s words caused the place to break into chaos.

“Optimus!” Ironhide pleaded in desperation. “You can’t let him get away with this! He’s not our boss – you are!”

“What in the frag?” Brawn’s voice cut through the sudden commotion. “Optimus?”

“What the hell’s going on?” Silverbolt, the Aerialbot leader, demanded. “He can’t do that!”

But Optimus simply bowed his head in acquiescence. He had no more words of comfort or advice for them.

“Oh, I can, and I will,” Sentinel spoke up above the clamor, answering Silverbolt. “In fact, our laws demand that I do so.”

“Is it true, Optimus?” Ironhide asked.

Optimus finally lifted his head to face his senior artillery specialist, and replied in a low voice. “I am afraid that it is true, Ironhide.”

Then an Autobot from amidst the crowd spoke up to challenge Sentinel. “What laws? We have no such laws!”

But the former Prime leader had been prepared for such challenges and, whilst he was more than willing to take over the command post by force if necessary, he would much rather that the Autobots submitted themselves to his leadership voluntarily, just as he knew Optimus would. “You will find it under section four; sub-section twelve of the Governance Ruling Agreement – which allows me, as the head of the Neutral faction, and co-signatory of the Agreement, to enforce whatever measures I have deemed necessary, and with full approval of the Cybertronian High Council, should an Alliance outpost, or the leadership thereof, become irreconcilably compromised.”

The Iaconian Autobots listened to his explanation in quiet shock. Not one of them had even been aware that such a term existed within the Agreement, which had officially brought an end to the Last Great War, and they began to feel defeated, unable to fight back against the very laws that had brought them peace just over a century ago.

“Compromised? What – what’s been compromised, exactly?” Blades demanded as he, along with his fellow Autobots, attempted to make sense out of what was happening.

Again, Sentinel had a ready response. “Your _former_ leader, Optimus Prime, has violated one of the most basic tenets of the mantle of Autobot leadership, and has dishonored our joint agreement, when he not only failed to carry out a critical directive from the Cybertronian High Council, but then deliberately ignored their wisdom and authority by issuing a counter-order to cease the search and apprehension of all Decepticons. In addition to this, he has since refused to rescind that order.”

Again, silence fell across the entire floor as the Autobots who had been under Optimus’ leadership struggled with the seemingly irrefutable facts that Sentinel had just presented to them in order to take his place as their leader.

Then Brawn’s voice cut through the thick tension in the air as he cried out, his blaster drawn and ready to fight. “Well, I don’t give a frag about your damned laws – right or wrong, I’ll never follow you! Who’s with me?” As soon as his fellow mini bots realized what he was attempting to do, they tried to rein him in, but it was too late. The very moment that he’d spoken out against Sentinel, he was hit by a tirade of electroshock weapons from several of the Antihex Autobots and Neutrals standing behind the newly self-appointed leader, and he crashed to the floor, burning and sparking from the inside.

Optimus rushed forward in alarm, but was soon held back by three guards. “Nooo!” he said, looking at Sentinel in confusion. “What have you done?”

Sentinel moved to stand over the mini bot, who now appeared to be offline, and shook his head in mock sadness. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. Such a shame,” he said, looking back up at all the confused and distraught faces around him. “I really didn’t want to go down this path, but I must do what needs to be done.” He motioned for two guards to pick up the fallen mech and take him away, out of his sight. “Is there anybody else here who is stupid enough to challenge my leadership?”

He received no responses – not even Streetwise or Blades felt confident enough to gamble with their life in a confrontation against the much larger, and very powerful, mech and his army of followers. “No? Very good. Then perhaps now we can get on to more pressing matters.” He turned and walked towards Prowl, who had remained by Optimus’ side throughout the whole show. “You – you are Chief of Security, correct?”

Prowl nodded affirmatively. “Correct.”

“Do I have your loyalty?” Sentinel asked him.

Prowl remained motionless, offering him no further response, and Sentinel took it as a no. Then he looked around at the other Autobot regulars, first settling his gaze upon Ironhide. “What about you?”

Ironhide scowled at him, tightening his fists into balls. “Never!” he answered.

Sentinel remained calm, turning to ask the Protectobots the same question. “Will any of you give me your loyalty?” He was met with stubborn expressions, and it quickly became apparent that there was not a single Iaconian Autobot among them who would yield to his authority. He sighed resignedly. “Very well… you have all made your decision.” Then he turned to face his guards and soldiers. “Arrest them all, and thrown them into the cell blocks,” he ordered, waving dismissively as he walked away from Optimus and his defiant Autobots.

Sideswipe was the only Autobot from Iacon who had not protested Sentinel Prime’s takeover. As he watched his former friends being forcibly removed from the entrance hall of the Command Center, he could not bring himself to look into Optimus’ optics, and he turned to walk away, even as the shouts for help from the other Autobots fell upon his deaf audial sensors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well here we are, with three more chapters to go and then this story will be up to date. It has been a long journey for me since I first started writing this story, which has already gone through a few revisions and improvements over the years, but I think now I've finally reached the stage where I am happy with the result and am ready to go forward and keep bringing you, the readers, all new chapters.
> 
> I'd like to thank everyone who has been reading and/or following this, it really means so much to me because without an audience to hear it, the story remains untold.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's my favorite chapter so far... I hope you enjoy, and don't forget to leave your questions, comments or reviews - good, bad or indifferent! :D

Sideswipe showed no emotion as Optimus Prime and his loyal officers were pushed towards the grand entrance of the Command Center by a group of out-of-state Autobots and an equal number of Neutral guards. His audial receptors picked up Ironhide’s angry protestations, threatening Sentinel Prime as his demands for release rang throughout the ground floor; Streetwise voicing his damnations at any guard who dared touch him, and Blades’ and Silverbolt’s hostilities towards the same. He watched as Ironhide fought back with all his strength, punching and kicking back at the guards who sought to grab hold of him, and he realized how detached he was about the entire drama. It was as if everything that was happening around him, the events that were unfolding before his optics, were all just part of a dream. Yet he could not offer his help to any of them – felt no inclination to do so, in fact – and he wondered whether he had already lost his spark, was already a broken and empty mech inside. The only thing, the one thought that seemed to keep him going was the hope that he may get to see his brother again, should Sentinel be suitably pleased with him.

“If you don’t want to end up like your loud-mouthed friend, I suggest that you start behaving like a good, aft-licking Autobot,” one of the Neutral guards advised Ironhide, using Brawn’s misfortune at their hands as an example, and then taunted the artillery specialist with a deep, mocking laugh.

Ironhide couldn’t stop several of the Neutrals as they overpowered him with ease, whilst the rest of the Iaconian Autobots were corralled together into a tight circle by the main entrance doors. “Let go of me, you creeps!” he shot back, unable to accept what was going on. He had not been prepared for such a turn of events, and it had happened so quickly that he was still in a state of shock and confusion.

One of the Aerialbots, Air Raid, pleaded with Optimus to allow him and his team to fight back by forming Superion, while Slingshot offered to use his flight capable alt mode to gain some advantage over their captors, but Optimus had ordered them to refrain from taking any aggressive action. “No – we can’t violate the very laws that we’ve all sworn to uphold… no matter how much we may disagree with the current situation.”

Standing beside him, Prowl made sure that only Prime could hear his words. “Sir, I and… others have reason to believe that Sentinel may have a hand in the sabotaging of–”

Optimus interrupted him, knowing Prowl’s thoughts without needing to hear the rest of his sentence. “But can we prove it?” he asked, speaking quickly.

“Perhaps…” Prowl replied discreetly. If he was able to get one of the Antihex Autobots alone he may be able to elicit a confession, learn from him what was happening in Antihex as well as Sentinel Prime’s involvement, under the threat of being tried for treason.

“We can talk about it when we get the chance,” Optimus said circumspectly, and that was all he was willing to say on the matter – at least for now.

“So, we’re just going to let him take over?” Streetwise’s sudden outburst was not altogether unexpected. He was frustrated and confused, just like they all were, though a part of him was secretly glad and relieved that Groove was not presently among them. Primus knew his pacifistic team mate had been through enough already. “No disrespect, Prime, but he’s already shot down Brawn – are you telling me that our laws allowed him to do that? Who else is he allowed to mistreat–”

“Streetwise – that’s enough!” Prime stopped him mid-sentence, shutting him down, his tone of voice impatient yet controlled. He paused, taking a moment to re-center his thoughts, but before he could say anything more there was commotion by the main entrance next to him, and he became aware that Sentinel’s subordinates had already taken too long to open the doors. Three of the Neutrals had become frustrated as they watched two Antihex Autobots reacting to a non-compliant Teletraan II. Apparently, their security codes were being rejected every time they input them to try to get the doors to open, so finally their impatience got the better of them.

“I’m just going to blast it,” one of the Neutrals said, raising his weapon at the access panel. Before he could pull the trigger, however, he heard Sentinel’s voice call out behind him.

“What do you think you’re doing?” the former Prime admonished, his tone dangerously impatient. “Get these Autobots out to the high security cell blocks!” he repeated, waving a hand at Optimus Prime and his team, but he was soon met with panicked confusion from his guards.

“Uh… we can’t get these doors open,” the Neutral explained, and then quickly stepped out of the way as Sentinel pushed past him.

“You incompetent fool!” the large red and black leader mech said in a scathing voice, and hurriedly input his own code. “I don’t have time for this.”

‘That code is invalid. Please enter a security clearance override to access,’ the Center’s computer voice informed him.

He grunted in anger and tried again, but Teletraan II would not accept his code. Slamming a fist against the heavy door, he thought for a moment before spinning around in search of someone. “Sideswipe!” he called out as he spotted the tall warrior standing silently in the far corner. “Try your access code.”

Sideswipe did as he was told without protest, avoiding Optimus’ questioning gaze as he approached the doors. He deliberately ignored the looks of disapproval from the other Autobots as he calmly input the new security code that one of Sentinel’s top ranking advisors had given him, then stepped back to wait for the doors to open. However, all he got in return was the same uncomplying computer message.

Sentinel turned to face the sequestered Autobots, his expression impatient, yet instead of erupting into a fit of rage he remained collected and in control. “Leadfoot?”

“Sir,” a sturdily built, red mech replied from a few feet behind him.

“Disable the security protocols, and then initiate a priority one alpha override, ready for my authorization.”

Leadfoot nodded in acquiescence, before turning and heading towards the control room up on the fourth level. Once he was gone, Sentinel met Optimus’ gaze. “Now, then, I’m sure we’ll have our small problem with the security codes resolved,” he said, looking accusingly at Prowl. “In the meantime, there’s no point in having you all stand around here.” He waved a hand, casually indicating for his guards to move the Iaconian Autobots away from the main entrance. “Take them to an empty holding bay, but keep an optic on them at all times. Do not allow them out of your sight, even for one moment,” he instructed, his tone almost nonchalant as he met Optimus Prime’s gaze once again. Then, satisfied that the situation was under control, he turned and walked away.

* * *

The subway station in Semplex was a fairly nondescript, sub-surface structure; its simple yet functional passenger lounge and track-side platform connected directly to the sleek, rounded meg-lev train tunnel. The lounge was half filled with commuters, most of them seated quietly and minding their own business awaiting the next scheduled carriage to arrive.

The steady footfalls of several mechs approaching from one end of the darkened tunnel, reverberating along the smooth metallic surface of the railway track, caused several of the seated mechanoids to lift their heads and look towards the source of the sound.

Most of these mechs tended to shy away from any sign of trouble, whether real or imagined, their primary concern being that they be allowed to safely return to their homes after a long day laboring in one of the many oil refineries located on the outskirts of the smaller twin city. Not a single one of them had ever come face to face with the likes of Jhiaxus, or his enforcers, but that was all about to change.

Astro led the way through the tunnel until the shadows gave way and he slowed to a stop facing the bright, fully lit platform. Soon after his two Decepticon companions came into view, stopping short just beside him, and moments later they were joined by the three Autobot femmes. He held up a hand to indicate that he needed a moment of silence. He all but ignored the looks of apprehension or concern on the commuters’ faces, focusing instead upon something that was invisible to every mech but him. The glow from his yellow optics intensified, and he slowly turned away from the lounge area until he stood facing his group, though his gaze was still locked on the unseen target. It was so quiet now inside the station that even the sound of a pin drop could have been clearly picked up by normal audial receptors.

After several long moments, Astrotrain glanced behind him back down the tunnel for a tentative beat before redirecting his gaze back towards the blue mech. “Astro…?” he said, his voice barely above a whisper; nevertheless it disturbed the eerie stillness of the tunnel and almost seemed too loud to bear. Intending to query Astro on what they ought to do next, their guide answered before he could form the words.

“He’s here,” Astro affirmed to the group in a lowered voice, though he maintained his calm disposition despite the impending threat that awaited them just outside the station. His gaze carefully took in the surrounding infrastructure as he slowly looked around.

Unlike Astro, however, Rook’s expression was one of obvious alarm and trepidation. The thought of engaging in a battle to the death against his former superior greatly troubled him. “Well… then, perhaps we should all get the hell out of here as fast as we can before he finds us–”

“No,” Astro cut him short, and Rook regarded him impatiently though he said nothing more. Several more seconds passed by in silence as all optics were focused fully upon the blue mech. The femmes, in particular, were curious to know exactly what Astro had in mind. Whilst he did not display any outward mark or insignia to indicate the fact, they could sense that he was very much a Decepticon of high rank, though to their knowledge such mechs were few and far between, and their identities generally well known amongst Cybertron’s population. Then he spoke once more, turning his head to glance towards the waiting area. “I’ll hold him off,” he said, and without waiting for the others he crossed the track until he reached the ledge and then jumped up onto the platform.

“Wait!” Rook called after him, shaking his head in confusion. “What are you doing? Surely you’re not going to confront him on your own?” he inquired as Astrotrain and the femmes stood silently by, ready for action at a moment’s notice.

Astro paused momentarily to look back at them, before meeting Rook’s gaze. “Trust me,” he said, and gave him a small smile in reassurance while ignoring the green mech’s obvious frustration and confusion. Then he moved his attention over to Astrotrain. “Get them out of here,” he said simply, indicating with a nod towards Rook and the femmes. “Whatever happens, we can’t fail in our mission,” he added, then drew his laser blaster and stepped forwards into the middle of the waiting area. “Go, _now_!” he shouted back at them, and without warning discharged a burst of laser fire, aiming it towards the ceiling right above the lounge. Sparks and debris rained down all around him as the sudden flurry of searing blasts from his weapon hit the ceiling directly above the seated mechs’ heads, jolting them all into a panic. A few seconds later a large section of the ceiling caved in with a loud crash, as though a large meteor had just smashed through the top of the building.

It took a few split seconds before Astrotrain realized that the ceiling had not collapsed as a result of Astro’s weapon fire. The large, gaping hole that had suddenly been created, with its sharp edges of torn and twisted metal, had been made by Jhiaxus himself. He tapped Rook’s shoulder to get his attention and nodded back towards the darkened tunnel. “Come on,” he prompted, and began moving out of sight of the platform, just as Astro had instructed. Rook hesitated, concerned for Astro, but before he could even think to protest the situation the triple changer grabbed him firmly by the forearm and began to pull him towards safety. “Just do what he says,” Astrotrain reminded him whilst giving the three femmes a prompting nod, and they did not need to be told twice, moving quickly out of sight after the two Decepticons.

A large, menacing jet-former in his robot mode dropped down through the hole in the ceiling, holding a missile launcher. The dazed mechs in the lounge area leaped from their seats in a sudden frenzy before scrambling for the nearest available exit, in a bid to save themselves from this frightful intruder. “Everybody out!” Astro shouted at them, as he continued to fire his blaster relentlessly in Jhiaxus’ direction. Spattered trails of scorch marks suddenly appeared along the walls of the waiting area while blistered conduit sizzled and sparked, causing wisps of smoke and the scent of burned flexi-metal to fill the space around him. Everywhere it was chaos, as the second in command of the Hitec base released a furor of energy missiles in all directions, burning large holes into the walls and sending torn-off chunks of lounge seats hurling violently across the platform – the chairs’ bases still bolted to the ground and smoldering with the heat of the blasts.

Astro realized that this was only a prelude, put on by Jhiaxus to demonstrate his superiority for all to witness, and that if the jet-former wasn’t stopped Semplex station and all its occupants would soon be destroyed. A number of mechs lay strewn on the ground around him, damaged beyond repair; these had been the unlucky ones, unable to avoid the onslaught of the missiles. As the last of the survivors cleared the area, Astro took cover behind a row of seats that were still intact. He kept his focus trained upon the enemy jet, who was powering down his launcher with all the satisfaction of a war lord who had just decimated his opponent’s army on the battle field.

Moving slowly behind the seats with blaster gripped tightly in hand, Astro watched and waited, looking for any opportunity to gain the upper hand over Jhiaxus. Whilst his chances of success did not look promising, he was well aware that patience, and clarity of thought, counted before rashness of action. Then, save for some electrical sparking and conflagrating debris caused by the recent weapons assault, stillness began to resettle around the platform. Through the smoke-filled waiting area, Astro could see Jhiaxus as he surveyed the station, carefully searching for something or somebody. When the jet finally spoke, it was with a sense of such self-approbation and assuredness that it was as if he’d already gotten what he’d come for. It was only a matter of time.

“I do believe we have some unfinished business… you and I.” Jhiaxus paused, waiting for Astro’s reaction. “What’s the matter – too afraid to show yourself?” Then his features twisted into seething hate, and he turned his head ominously to face the Cybertronian mech who had eluded him for far too long. “Come out and face your punishment like a true mechanoid! Then, perhaps… I may consider sparing the lives of your pathetic companions.”

Astro realized that it was time to play his game. He would attempt to keep the jet at a distance, stall for time – even a precious few extra seconds could mean the difference between life and death for his companions – yet he knew that this could only work for so long, if at all. Time was running out, and he knew that he would eventually have to make a decision. In the end – if it came down to a choice between saving Comet’s life or his own life, he would choose Comet. Ensuring that the Decepticon seeker lived was of critical importance to the mission. If they failed, there would be nothing to stop another Great Devastation from occurring, although this time it would involve the complete subjugation and annihilation of his home planet and all its inhabitants, brought about by the Supremacist-Neutral regime.

Rook and his companions, out of direct line of sight inside the tunnel, listened tentatively to the encounter. Astrotrain had been about to transport them all out of the tunnel and away from the station in his shuttle mode, but then had reconsidered, deciding instead to wait and see whether Astro might need his help; he simply could not leave the mech behind to deal with Jhiaxus alone, regardless of Astro’s best intentions.

In the deceptive quietness that followed, Astro slowly stood up to his full height and began to move towards the leering jet with deliberate strides. He kept his gaze steady, watching Jhiaxus’ every move with a calm, self-assured purpose. Finally he indicated with a gesture, his hands free of any weapons. “So… here I am,” he stated in a confronting tone, as if daring the jet to challenge him.

Jhiaxus snarled and looked about, half expecting a trap or ambush. Then he took a few cautious steps toward the Cybertronian mech, sizing up his victim with relish as if deciding upon the best method for his execution. “Ah… yes. Forgive me for saying so, _Astro_ … but I did not expect to find you _here_ ,” he offered with mocking cynicism, emphasizing the despised mech’s name. “Oh, how so fortunate for me that you are.”

Astro took his time to respond; a silent, deadly face-off between the two of them. “Oh, and why is that?”

His foe’s malicious grin turned into a musing laugh. “It seems that you have become a mech of some _worth_.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Astro replied, somewhat sincerely as he shook his head slowly.

“Hmmm.” Jhiaxus seemed to re-evaluate the situation, pausing in thought. “Then allow me to make it clear.” He took another step towards his adversary, missile launcher now pointed directly at Astro’s chest. The blue mech made no countermoves. “It is no secret that the High Commander wants you dead, as do I. A pitiful traitor such as yourself deserves to die in the most excruciating way possible.” He kept his optics fixed upon his enemy, watching for any sign that Astro’s tough veneer was weakening, though the mech kept his emotions well under control, giving away nothing of his thoughts or feelings. “However, it has recently come to my attention that a certain asset has become… rogue.” Another pause, as Jhiaxus continued to gauge the impact of his words, and of his formidable presence. “And… as you might appreciate, rogue assets are never good for business.”

Astro slowly nodded in understanding, but then his tone became harsh, almost antagonistic. “Get to the point, Jhiaxus.”

The large jet released a low grumble in irritation. “The _point_ is that you and your companions will all surrender to me, or Comet will die.” He couldn’t have been any clearer, and a satisfied smirk crossed his face as he finished speaking.

There was no possible way for Astro to ascertain whether Jhiaxus was telling the truth in regards to Comet, or whether he was attempting to set him up. If it was indeed true, and he had already captured the seeker, or worse – he’d already had him killed – then Astro would have failed in his mission and all would be lost. However, there was an equal chance that Jhiaxus was lying to him, wanting him to believe that he had the upper hand when in fact, he did not. He took a moment to weigh up his options, but before he could give his enemy a calculated response a team of six black jet-formers dropped down through the hole in the ceiling, weapons in hand and ready to carry out their Commander’s orders.

 _Jhiaxus’ enforcers._ Astro instinctively tensed and quickly looked about for an emergency escape route. His only option was back down through the tunnel – since the enforcers now blocked his access to the main exit behind them – but such a manoeuvre was risky. He would have to think of a way to slow them down first, somehow, if he was going to attempt to make a run for it.

Only a few mechano-meters away, Rook visibly stiffened at the arrival of the enforcers and he powered up his blaster, unwilling to let Astro battle them on his own, to hell with direct orders. He felt a strong grip on his shoulder, and turned to face Astrotrain. “Either you join me in battle, or you can let go of me,” he demanded bravely.

Rook’s foolhardiness took the triple changer by surprise, though he could not blame the smaller mech for feeling the way he did. Astro obviously meant a lot to him – to the both of them – but any wrong moves now would more than likely ruin everything, not to mention put them all directly in harm’s way. “If we fight them on our own, we’ll all be reduced to scrap. Even with the extra help,” Astrotrain informed him, before glancing briefly towards the femmes by his side.

Rook seemed to back down somewhat, though his frustration showed. “No… I won’t. I won’t let it happen again, I _won’t_!” He sounded distraught, as if he were reliving something that only he was privy to, and he alone understood. He pointed abruptly behind him at Astro. “He saved my _life_! Don’t you understand? He _believed_ in me, even when I couldn’t believe in myself! I won’t let him die!”

Astrotrain could see quite clearly that Rook was in some kind of emotional turmoil and confusion, and he tightened his grip on the mech’s shoulder, shaking him a bit out of his reverie. “Hey – he’s not going to die. We won’t let him.” Rook seemed to take comfort in his words, but before Astrotrain could talk further sense into him one of the femmes spoke, her voice soft and filled with empathy.

“He’s right… Rook. We can’t fight them all on our own.” It was Chromia. “If only we had backup, we could probably–”

Astrotrain turned to her abruptly. “Backup. Of course.” He activated his internal tracking system without delay and then, after a few moments, refocused his attention on both Chromia and Rook. “We have backup, in Megaplex. It’s not far.”

Chromia looked back at him with concern. “Megaplex?” She shifted her gaze towards the platform as she considered the situation. “But there’s no time. Unless they can get here in less than a klik it’ll all be over,” she said, not wanting to affirm a hopeless situation but seeing no other outcome.

As they spoke, Jhiaxus’ enforcers began to close in around Astro, who made no effort to fight them off. There was precious little time left, and Astrotrain knew that if there was any hope left of saving him, he had to do something and fast. “All right. Get ready to hit ‘em with everything you’ve got,” he told them suddenly. “I’ll only need a few seconds.”

“Wait – what’s the plan?” Chromia demanded quickly, as the triple changer began to move out towards the platform.

He stopped briefly to look back at her. “I’m going to try and get us all out of here in one piece,” he replied, before transforming into his shuttle mode and firing up his thrusters.

*

The moment Jhiaxus gave his enforcers the order to seize the traitor, Astro knew that his time had run out. Whilst he had considered making a break for it, he ultimately dismissed that option as an act of suicide. If he’d had a flight capable alt mode he may have had a chance, but as it were his configurations were not designed for such situations. So he had accepted his fate and had decided to surrender without resistance. At least the time that he’d managed to keep Jhiaxus stationary would have offered his companions a precious few minutes to get away and continue on the mission without him. And, if his sacrifice resulted in saving Comet and allowing them all to return safely to Cybertron, then it would have all been worth it.

He met the enforcers’ cold gazes without fear and allowed them to approach him, their weapons pointed directly at him. He could sense Jhiaxus’ immense satisfaction at having finally captured the long sought after spy, could almost feel his pleasure as he imagined handing his prisoner over to the High Commander, who would have him beaten to within an inch of his life only to be made to beg for a quick termination rather than be forced to endure months of torture for the sadistic enjoyment of his captors.

And in that moment, he did not expect anybody to come to his aid. Being in command of the Decepticons here on Alternity City, and answerable only to Megatron, the responsibility of life and death usually fell upon his shoulders, and he had embraced this fully.

In that moment, he did not expect sudden commotion behind him as he turned his head to catch a glimpse of what had also caught the attention of the enforcers.

 _Astrotrain_. Even before Astro had enough time to process what was happening, the triple changer was powering up his ionic blaster and quickly moving towards the platform in shuttle mode, on a trajectory directly towards the enforcers. Within moments the black jets began to unleash a torrent of weapons fire back at the shuttle, but their efforts did not stop the Decepticon from slamming his nose cone into three of them with full force, scattering them violently in all directions. In the same instance, suppressive fire coming from behind the shuttle in the form of laser blasts and grenades hit Jhiaxus and the remaining enforcers, causing them to scatter in confusion. But the advantage of their surprise attack would only be momentary, and Astro had to act fast if he was going to make use of this small window of opportunity.

“Stop them!” Jhiaxus ordered, sending an energy missile towards the shuttle in anger. His hench-mechs, recovering from the initial attack, scrambled back to their feet before locking their weapons onto the Decepticons.

The energy missile narrowly missed Astrotrain’s left wing as he manoeuvred into position alongside Astro, opening his side door. “Get in,” he said, sparing no time as the impact of the missile showered small fragments of metal and rock upon them, the tunnel wall behind them left in ruins.

Astro reactivated his own blaster and fired at the two enforcers closest to him, jumping up into the shuttle amidst another energy missile and a renewed assault of laser blasts directed at him. Astrotrain did not remain still; he swerved sharply to avoid getting hit and then turned back around until Rook and the femmes were within reach, who immediately stopped laying down cover fire to jump aboard without needing to be told, and in less than a few astro-seconds Astrotrain was free to get the hell out of there, full throttle.

Jhiaxus watched as the shuttle escaped down the tunnel, followed soon after by his enforcers who had immediately transformed into their jet modes in hot pursuit. Then he transformed into his own jet mode and shot up through the hole in the ceiling, just before a carriage full of passengers pulled up into the station.

*

The yellow Autobot silently led the way up to the fourth floor of the burned-out building, climbing his way up along the transport platform shaft and then jumping down over a broken wall. He had laid Comet on the floor behind a partitioning, in a crude attempt to conceal the seeker from intruders.

“Over there,” he said, pointing down toward the still form a few feet away as he kept a steady gaze on Thunderblast and Dirge.

An odd sense of estranged familiarity, contempt and respect hit Dirge all at once when he looked down upon Comet’s countenance for the first time. It made him feel terribly uneasy, but for the life of him he could not understand why he should be feeling this way. He had never seen this mech before, had never even heard of his name until Thunderblast had first mentioned it back in Binaltech. Other than his unique color scheme, Comet looked just like one of the original Decepticon seekers. Nothing about him should have elicited such an instinctive reaction from him, save for Comet’s current condition; he looked worn and heavily battle-damaged, and in such a weakened, vulnerable state that Dirge couldn’t help but wonder how it was that this elusive Decepticon had managed to evade capture for so long.

Thunderblast stood beside Dirge now, in silent shock at the sight of Comet, and he noted that she was a very different Thunderblast to the one he’d gotten to know when they’d first met. Indeed, he thought that she must feel some compassion towards this mech, perhaps even cared for him in some way.

Before he could say or do anything, Thunderblast quickly rushed forward to kneel down beside the seeker, and then gently tilted his head towards her with both hands. “Comet? Comet?” she whispered, looking for any sign of recognition from his dimmed optic sensors. There was none. Her brow furrowed in anger, and her facial features formed into a familiar pout. “Dammit!” Sunstreaker, watching quietly, moved to kneel beside her to offer his empathy and concern.

But the femme ignored the Autobot and instead stood up hastily to face Dirge. “Well, don’t just stand there… _do_ something!”

Dirge stood facing her, his concussion missile launcher still in hand as he looked down at Comet and Sunstreaker, and then to Thunderblast. His team mates stood silently behind him, watching and wondering in quiet fascination; they were all intrigued with the mysterious mech named Comet just as much as he was. Then he grimaced, turned away from her, and activated his com link.

*

Delivering a series of short but powerful bursts of his ionic blaster at the tunnel ceiling, Astrotrain forced his way through the weakened structure and shot out into the open, light-filled sky, soaring high into the atmosphere at full acceleration. The subway terminal that he’d just left behind quickly became a rapidly diminishing dot on his radar as he continued to monitor for any sign of Jhiaxus and his enforcers. Sure enough, six new dots appeared as each enemy jet burst through newly created holes at the top of the subway tunnel; the enforcers were on a set course in pursuit after him, though Jhiaxus was nowhere in sight.

“If I can get us to Megaplex intact, we’ll have a much better chance of defeating them there,” he informed his passengers, though he did not provide any further explanation.

He did not need to; Astro immediately understood what he was thinking. “The seekers.” No sooner had he spoken than his com link signalled an incoming transmission, and he hesitated for a brief instant before opening the channel and setting it to speaker mode.

“Astro? It’s Dirge.”

Astro took a deep inhale before answering, glancing about him at the mech and femmes aboard Astrotrain. They were all watching him expectantly, and he noticed in particular Rook’s unspoken gratitude at his rescue, though he did not give any of them any further acknowledgment. Instead, he returned his focus to his com link. “This is Astro. We’re on our way to Megaplex. Maintain your position, and prepare for battle.” His tone of voice was calm and calculated, though it also sounded a little subdued, as if he had skipped his recharge cycle for several days and was starting to reach the point of exhaustion.

“Understood.” The other end of the line went momentarily quiet. “Uh, there’s something else.” There was another pause as Astro waited for Dirge to continue, but the seeker said nothing further. Directly outside, the enforcers were closing in and firing their laser weapons at Astrotrain, who was doing everything he could to outmanoeuvre them and deflect their attacks.

“Go ahead,” Astro prompted.

“We’ve found Comet.”

A surreal stillness settled around the interior of the shuttle as the shock of the news – albeit not altogether unexpected – hit his audial sensors, even as the space craft banked and began to descend sharply towards the city of Megaplex, and he became momentarily speechless.

Dirge continued speaking without waiting for a response. “He’s been hit. He’s still alive… but he’s not responding.”

A sudden burst of laser fire hit Astrotrain’s rear thrusters and the shuttle shook violently as he struggled with a mighty effort to maintain control. After a few moments it seemed that he was successful, keeping his descent at a steady speed.

“We’re almost there. Keep him safe,” Astro instructed, and severed the link. Then he slowly dropped himself down to sit on the floor of the shuttle, deeply introspective.

Rook slowly knelt down beside him, wanting to reach out in some way and offer his friendship, but he had no idea how to go about doing that, or what he could possibly say to reassure the larger mech. Granted, he had never met Comet, had never even heard of him before leaving the Hitec base, but judging by all that he’d seen and heard in the weeks that had followed it was obvious that for whatever reason, the seeker was not only very important to Astro but he was also a critical part of their mission. He trusted that, in time, he would learn the reasons why, but for now he was content just to offer his support in any way he could. It was the least he could do.

As Rook contemplated these thoughts, Astro slowly turned his head up to meet his gaze, and was about to say something but then Astrotrain interrupted their unspoken communication. “I’m coming down to land. Get ready,” he announced, and opened his side hatch to let them all out before he’d even touched down.

Immediately Dirge and his team of seekers, who had been waiting on the ground for their arrival, transformed into their jet modes and took to the air to intercept and launch a direct aerial assault against the enforcers, who were fast approaching as they continued to target the triple changer with a barrage of laser blasts.

Astro leaped out of the shuttle, laser blaster in hand, as Rook and the Autobot femmes jumped out after him, before Astrotrain transformed back into his robot mode and ran stumbling towards the nearest building for cover. After holding out in his alternate mode against a continuous onslaught of laser fire, the triple changer was running low on power and needed to allow his systems time to repair the damage he’d sustained.

Without sparing another astro-second, Astro, Rook and the femmes pointed their weapons up towards the six black jets and lit up the sky, combining their firepower with the Decepticon seekers’.

* * *

The cacophony of voices quietened abruptly as all heads turned to observe the Autobot who had just appeared at the entrance to the meeting room. Wheeljack cast his gaze around at each Decepticon, looking upon their faces in unspoken recognition, before his attention settled upon their leader. He was still a little dazed, and his mannerisms spoke of nervousness, yet there was also an underlying sense of urgency and determination that gave him the strength and conviction to face a room full of the Autobots’ official enemy. “Ah… Megatron?” he said after several long moments. “I think we should talk.” He took a few steps into the room as Jazz appeared in the entranceway behind him, watching quietly.

Megatron, who had been conversing with Scrapper and Onslaught, the leader of the Combaticons, turned to face the Autobot with reserved interest, though he was a little guarded. “What about?” he asked simply.

“Ah… well,” Wheeljack started, and then rubbed at the side of his head, distracted by the sensation of the injury he’d sustained. “I hope it’s not too late, but he… he warned me about that virus, about where it came from.” He looked around at all the Decepticons once more, but the mech he sought did not appear to be amongst them. “He’s… he’s not here?” he then asked, his optics conveying puzzlement and uncertainty.

His words got Megatron’s attention, and he slowly approached the Autobot until they were standing face to face. Towering above him, nevertheless the Decepticon’s imposing physical form did not seem to intimidate the Autobot engineer. “Who?” Megatron questioned.

Wheeljack answered him as if the answer was obvious. “Starscream.”

Around the room, no one spoke a word or moved an inch as all audial receptors were fixed upon the exchange of words, as if the mention of the name seemed to carry with it the heavy burden of some untold tragedy. Megatron finally turned away and paced across the room until he came to stand before the blank view screen that was mounted into the far wall. He said nothing for a long moment, so Wheeljack took the opportunity to continue speaking.

“The Plague – the virus, I mean – it, it was an experiment. So they could see what would happen… see how far it could go… what it could do. But it’s – it was just the beginning,” he blurted in a sudden torrent of words, as if attempting to release the burden of some coveted knowledge that threatened to segregate him from the rest of the normal world. “But by the time I found out what was happening, by the time I’d realized what was actually happening… you see, it was too late for me. But if it weren’t for him… for Starscream, I mean… well, the virus would have finished us.” Megatron remained motionless, offering no reaction or response, as the rest of the Decepticons also remained quiet, simply watching and listening. Jazz stepped inside the room until he came to stand beside the Autobot engineer. Wheeljack offered him a glance in acknowledgment before continuing to tell his story. “But that’s not the only thing. You see – that virus… it was, well, it was _intelligent_ … it was changing before our optics, constantly morphing into new forms in ways that – well… in ways that I can’t even begin to describe. In terrible ways, I mean.”

“Hold on just one astro-second,” Jazz said after a pause, his voice barely above a whisper. “Tell me if I’m not hearing you right, ‘Jack… but it sounds like what you’re actually saying… is that the virus is still out there?” His thoughts were racing, exploring implications that would have been difficult for any Autobot to consider.

Wheeljack turned to face him, his optics wide with anticipation. “Ah… no, not exactly, Jazz – but possibly something worse. You see, that virus – the one responsible for the Plague? I was given a sophisticated anti-viral agent, which should have been enough to stop it, even reverse it. I’m… I’m not sure exactly what happened after that, but one thing I did find out was that the virus itself had been created from some form of rare agent that’s comprised of self-organizing nano-particles… virtually non-existent in our sector of space.” He paused to refocus his gaze on Megatron, who still had his back to him. “But before I could share what I’d discovered I was knocked out cold… and I don’t remember anything more until I woke up here.”

Megatron turned back around to face the Autobot engineer, observing him carefully. His expression was largely impassive; however, Jazz sensed that he was interested in what was being said.

“So, Starscream… he helped you?” Jazz asked, intrigued by Wheeljack’s story.

“Yeah – can you believe it?” Wheeljack answered him, nodding. “I mean, I wasn’t sure at first whether to trust him, you know? He just showed up in my workshop one day. I wasn’t expecting him or anything… I was too focused on trying to find a cure. I’m not even sure how he managed to override my security protocols, actually. But anyway, he said he would give me an antidote for the Plague virus… then he told me about that foreign agent, and that if it was to fall into the wrong hands that it had the potential to cause massive devastation on an inter-planetary scale, with far reaching consequences. Of course, at first I didn’t believe him… no offense or anything, but he _was_ a Decepticon… you know what I mean?”

“None taken,” Megatron said, almost dismissively. The two Autobots waited expectantly for him to say something more on the matter, and for a long moment he offered them nothing; he seemed reluctant to talk about any of it, or about the Decepticon former second in command. “Yet Autobot Command and its Neutral allies accused, and convicted, him of orchestrating that Plague,” he reminded them, recalling the events of a burdensome past that, for the Autobots at least, was still very much shrouded in mystery. His tone of voice was calm and even, yet Jazz thought that there was a hint of underlying accusation. “He was also accused of, and then convicted, of assassinating the Autobot’s primary engineer.” He paused again, this time watching Wheeljack with intense scrutiny. “However – and correct me if I’m mistaken – _you_ happen to be that Autobot.”

Jazz glanced from one to the other in sudden realization, watching as Wheeljack slowly looked away from the Decepticon leader’s scrutinizing gaze to slowly sit down in one of the empty chairs nearby, needing time to process the unwelcome news of what had occurred in the years after he’d been abruptly knocked off-line and placed into stasis.

“I’m sorry – I didn’t know, I–” Wheeljack started with unabated sincerity, rubbing the side of his head with the palm of one hand and meeting Megatron’s gaze. “I didn’t mean for any of that to happen.” He shifted his gaze to look down towards the floor, recalling the events of that fateful day. “He made me encrypt the anti-virus code into my data files, just in case… he was really insistent about it, too. Boy, he can be real pushy when he wants to be, I tell ya,” he explained, shaking his head in mild exasperation. “But anyway, soon after he left I was attacked by surprise… and, uh… I can’t remember anything after that.”

The room fell silent once again, and then Jazz asked a pertinent question. “But you know who attacked you?”

Wheeljack nodded with confidence. “Sure. It was – ah… Bludgeon.”

“Bludgeon?” Brawl said suddenly in irritation, clenching his fist. One of the Combaticons, he was strong and well armoured. “Why that piece of scrap – it was him and his goons who led us straight into that ambush. I’d like to grab him by the neck and ram his head straight through a double thick titanium wall.”

“You and _all_ of us,” commented Blast Off, his team mate, in agreement, disgusted by the thought that the Pretender had managed to capture his team by way of a surprise attack, outnumbered and outgunned. They were consequently handed over to Cybertron Command, where they’d been sentenced to be placed in stasis at the Detention Banks for an indefinite period of time. It had been a straight forward process, found guilty simply of being Decepticons.

Jazz, ever more intrigued, was determined to unravel the mystery of the virus’ origins until there was no longer any doubt in his mind. “Did Bludgeon say anything to you… anything at all… that you remember before he attacked you?” he asked.

Wheeljack hesitated, unsure, then slowly shook his head. “It’s all a blur, to be honest. It happened so fast, you know?” He paused for a moment before adding abruptly, “Oh, I do remember one thing, though. He demanded I tell _him_ everything that Starscream had told _me_ … especially about the agent.”

“You mean the foreign agent you mentioned earlier?” Jazz affirmed.

The engineer nodded. “Yeah. Starscream said that this… this agent – this substance – had been discovered and mined long ago, just before the Great Devastation by, uh… by Scorponok. But it was so rare that… that there was only a very limited supply.”

There was a moment of silence as Jazz turned away in thought. “Mined… huh?”

“Yeah, that’s right, let’s see… from the remote mining station on the fifth asteroid, somewhere in the Gamma Sector.”

The black and white Autobot met his gaze. “XR-5’s mining station…” he began, but soon trailed off and it was evident to all that the mention of the place had made him feel uncomfortable.

“Yeah, that’s it. Hence why he referred to it as Substance X, I think,” Wheeljack was saying, but Jazz was already ten steps ahead of him.

Jazz studied the Decepticon leader for a moment before he spoke. “There was a recent attack on that station… no mech was left alive… sixty, maybe more… a couple of them Autobot. They were tortured… every single one of them.” Ever since he’d returned from that mission, he had inadvertently relegated the experience to the back of his mind, none too eager to relive the morbid details of what his team had found, but part of the reason also had to do with the fact that he had absolutely no clue, no leads, to go on to even begin to understand who might have committed such an atrocious act, or why. Until now. “Of course… the first thing the Alliance did was to suspect the Decepticons, and at first I didn’t question their reasoning too much. But now, after everything I’ve learned… it makes no sense.” He sounded neither accusatory nor suspicious, was simply searching for answers. “What I _am_ starting to suspect, however… is that Sentinel Prime, _and_ maybe Scorponok… or whoever he’s working with – they didn’t want anybody to know about that mining station… or, more specifically, what they’d found there.” He glanced towards Wheeljack and then back to Megatron, allowing either of them the opportunity to respond.

“Such as? Deposits were exhausted long ago – there’d be none left there now,” Wheeljack pointed out.

“Maybe so… but maybe it wasn’t more of the substance that they’d found, so much as _evidence_ that it existed, maybe a trace deposit?” Jazz continued, formulating a theory as he went. “And maybe that’s something that Sentinel wanted to prevent at all cost.”

"But, why? I mean, he'd already created the virus," Wheeljack questioned.

Jazz shrugged, shaking his head. “I suppose he didn’t want anyone to connect the dots. Any trace of the substance might eventually lead back to him,” he proposed, though he wasn’t entirely convinced. There had to be a strong reason for having those miners silenced, even if it meant ordering the brutal slaughter of several innocent lives. “Those miners were killed for a reason and I, for one, would like to know what that reason was,” he said.

The room fell silent once more as the two Autobots attempted to come up with a plausible explanation for all that they had learned from one another. However, without further information their theories were simply that – theories, and could never be proven.

When Megatron broke the silence, his gaze was steady, scrutinizing. “You are correct in your assertions… for the most part.”

Jazz became all audio sensors; Megatron had not divulged much so far, had not offered any solid information regarding the virus or the events surrounding it, so he was more than a little interested to hear what he had to say.

The Decepticon leader paused, as if deciding whether the two Autobots could be fully trusted with the information he was about to share with them. “A trace deposit was discovered; yes… not enough to create another virus, but certainly enough to develop, perhaps, a compound that might be effective upon the enhanced neural circuitry of a mechanoid.” He paused, turned away from them to gaze back at the blank view screen. “Starscream was right. The original virus that Sentinel had created… with the help of Jhiaxus, was only used as a ‘distraction’ – it was a crude experiment to see whether Substance X could be developed and used as a weapon of mass control. Their motive was not to exterminate the Autobots, but to eventually find a way to control them. Initially, many of their experiments failed… until recently. With the rediscovery of the Substance on the mining station at XR-5, more and more Autobots have quickly succumbed to the experimental programming… whilst those who are able to resist its effects are captured, dismantled and their parts reused, recycled to expand his growing army.”

A depressing silence followed, as the two Autobots struggled to come to terms with the abhorrent nature of the Alliance’s true goal. “Army? You mean…” Jazz whispered in shock. He was confused by it all, repulsed by it, and part of him did not want Megatron to confirm it – yet another part of him was compelled to follow the petro-rabbit as far down the hole as it would go. He had not been entirely prepared to hear any of this, though he knew that he had to remain strong – not only for himself, but also for Wheeljack, for Optimus Prime, and for the rest of the Autobots back at Iacon – whether they resented him or not for all he had done thus far. He stood motionless for another long moment, unable to speak another word or meet anyone’s gaze.

Slowly Megatron turned back around to face him, allowing Jazz the necessary time to process the disclosure so that he would be able to fully fathom what was being revealed to him. “Yes; the Neutral army,” he finished.

* * *

Jhiaxus’ enforcers attempted to avoid the sudden barrage of laser blasts and grenades being fired at them from the ground team, but Dirge and his jets blocked their escape paths in the air, before locking their weapons systems onto them and firing with everything they had. It was satisfying, as the six menacing jets suddenly did not seem so menacing any longer. They attempted to scatter, but each of them was fiercely pursued by one of the Decepticons until they were driven headlong into a building in a shower of sparks and smoke, or were forced to transform into their robot modes as they hit the ground, before being confronted by the ground team’s attack.

Astro watched with unspoken pride as the Decepticons battled the enemy jets with a united and fearless front, while the Autobot femmes also proved their worth as they fought relentlessly to aid in the battle. Even before the battle was over he quickly looked around for Astrotrain and then rushed to his aid, kneeling beside him, but the triple changer waved him away.

“I’ll be okay. Go, get to Comet!” Astrotrain told him.

Astro remembered Comet, and realized with regret that Jhiaxus still had not shown himself. He hesitated, but only for a moment, and by the time he stood up to look around again, Rook was already by his side. However, there was no time to talk; Astro activated his scanner and quickly picked up four extra signatures close by – two Cybertronian, one Autobot, and one masked, in the direction of a burned-out building. As he started towards it he heard a femme’s voice call out to him from a short distance away and he looked up, half expecting to see one of the Autobot femmes standing there.

“Astro, over here!” the voice shouted again, shrill yet forceful, and he immediately recognized its owner as she came rushing up to greet him. Grabbing hold of his arm, she began to pull him towards the building. “Come _on_! You’ve got to help Comet!”

“Thunderblast–” Astro started, slightly surprised, but she wouldn’t let him speak.

“He’s hurt – we don’t have time to stand around while I explain everything to you – come _on_!”

Quickly following her lead, she showed him the way up through the building’s elevator shaft and then over the edge of a jagged, damaged wall, while Rook kept pace with them, only a few steps behind. As she approached a partitioning, Astro detected the fourth, masked signature – it was dangerously close. He could sense immediate danger. Grabbing Thunderblast roughly by her forearm he pulled her to him, and she jerked back with the sudden movement, stumbling into his strong arms. Silently, he indicated for her to keep quiet as he stood motionless for several moments, listening and watching intently, still holding Thunderblast with a tight grip. This time, however, she did not fight him. Then, just as quickly he released her and powered up his laser blaster, holding it up close to his chest before slowly walking closer towards the partitioning. He carefully moved around to the other side of the dividing wall, aiming his weapon directly in front of him as if preparing for a final showdown with Jhiaxus – Comet already taken hostage as the hostile jet waited patiently for him to arrive – and he hoped he wasn’t too late.

What he hadn’t been prepared for, however, was a tall, yellow Autobot with his blaster pointed at Jhiaxus, locked in a deadly stand-off with the much larger jet-former. Jhiaxus, in turn, had his missile launcher aimed casually at the Autobot’s head, while Comet lay motionless on the floor by the Autobot’s feet, off-line.

He heard Thunderblast’s stifled gasp directly behind him as Rook placed a hand over her mouth, her optics wide with shock, but Astro did not acknowledge either of them; his attention was fully upon Jhiaxus, watching his every move to make sure that the enemy jet did nothing to harm Comet. As far as what role the Autobot played here he could not determine for sure; however, from what Astro could tell he appeared to hold good intentions towards the exiled Decepticon seeker, and was attempting to protect him from the unexpected threat that was Jhiaxus.

“Don’t come any closer!” the Autobot threatened, pointing his weapon at Astro for a brief moment before aiming it back at Jhiaxus. “Either of you!”

The Autobot appeared fearless and uncompromising; his dull, battle damaged exterior a testament to his inner fortitude and courage in the face of possible annihilation as a daily occurrence on the streets of Alternity City. From his appearance alone, Astro guessed that the time he’d spent here on this planet had probably made him far wiser than anything else could have, though he also suspected that he had no proper understanding of what Jhiaxus was truly capable of, and was overcome by foolish bravery.

“You won’t win, Jhiaxus,” Astro warned, clearly and evenly. “Not this time.”

The large jet met his gaze with derision, and released a mocking laugh. “You really think you can stop me?” Jhiaxus mused.

“Your team’s already defeated, and we have you surrounded.” Astro held his blaster higher, prepared to fire at his adversary at a moment’s notice.

Jhiaxus’ amused expression faded, and was replaced by a cruel sneer. “First… I’m going to blast a hole right through his spark chamber…” he began, nodding his head to indicate the off-lined seeker on the ground as he moved his missile launcher away from Sunstreaker’s head to point it down towards Comet’s midsection, “and then… I’m going to enjoy watching your companions beg for mercy as I execute you all… one by one.” Jhiaxus abruptly repositioned his launcher in a sudden movement away from Comet, to point it directly at the despised traitor. “Beginning with you, _Astro_.”

It felt like time had suddenly come to a stand still; in less than an astro-second Jhiaxus’ missile launcher was powering up, and then the sound of weapon fire erupted in the space all around them, but the cause of it was not the discharging of one of Jhiaxus’ energy missiles. Instead, the Autobot had fired his weapon first, unleashing a continuous volley of laser blasts upon Jhiaxus. However, his firepower was not powerful enough to stop the jet – it proved to be only a distraction at best, and Jhiaxus turned suddenly towards Sunstreaker with the intention of blowing the Autobot’s head off.

It was in that very instant that Astro saw his opportunity. He lunged toward the enemy jet and slammed into him, sending them both crashing to the floor. Jhiaxus was momentarily taken by surprise, and the two of them fought fiercely to overpower the other with brute physical force. The yellow and white jet sought to gouge out Astro’s optics with his bare hands in uncontrolled rage, as the blue Cybertronian held him off with an equal amount of strength and determination, though it was proving to be a considerable effort on his part. It was true that only very few mechanoids were an even match for Jhiaxus; nevertheless, Astro could just as well hold his own, and was far stronger than many mechs his own size.

A fist came down hard across Jhiaxus’ left cheek. Grunting, he sought to pin Astro beneath him as they continued to grapple, rolling across the floor, until he managed to throw Astro off him with a mighty kick. The blue mech fell backwards into the partitioning wall, impacting it with such force that it caused the metal to fracture.

“Traitor!” Jhiaxus jeered, playing with him. Astro struggled to pick himself up, his intakes cycling air heavily. “Do you really think that your pathetic companions and your little band of weakling femmes are any match against me?” His missile launcher was suddenly pointing at Comet once more. “Enough! Now you shall watch Comet die!” he threatened, and powered up his weapon. Sunstreaker leaped towards him in an attempt to stop him, but Jhiaxus pushed the Autobot aside with a powerful swing of his arm and he was thrown down hard, blaster knocked out of his grasp.

“No!” Astro sprang back towards Jhiaxus, jumping into the air with a powerful leap to grab the enemy jet from behind. Managing to lock one elbow around his neck, he pulled the jet’s head back hard, and the energy missile that was launched from Jhiaxus’ weapon in that same instant missed its target by a mere two mechano-inches, to blast a hole in the ground beside Comet.

As the two of them were locked in battle once more, grunting with the effort of attempting to overpower the other, Thunderblast stepped closer towards Comet and Sunstreaker, who was scrambling to sit up using his elbows. “Well, isn’t anyone going to do anything?” she asked, glancing briefly at the Autobot still on the ground, and then at Rook behind her, before shaking her head and refocusing her attention on Astro and Jhiaxus without waiting for a response.

She could see that Jhiaxus was momentarily distracted as he engaged in a fierce struggle with Astro, and realized that she only had a very brief window of opportunity to help Astro, if she was going to attempt it at all. So without another thought, she stepped forward to grab Sunstreaker’s weapon from the floor, and then aimed and fired it close range, in between Jhiaxus’ optic sensors. Momentarily blinding him, she kicked his missile launcher from his hand, and the weapon dropped to the ground with a heavy thud. Then she moved quickly to pick it up before he could realize what she’d done.

With a cry of rage, Jhiaxus spun around and grabbed Astro by the neck with both hands, finally free of the blue mech’s grasp, and slammed him against the partitioning with full force. Astro faltered, dropping down on one knee as the second in command of the Hitec base bore down on him relentlessly, his hands in a vice-grip around Astro’s neck.

Astro knew that he was fast losing the battle against his deadly opponent, yet it was all he could do to keep him away from Comet as his gaze was locked with Jhiaxus’ vengeful glare, the jet’s facial features molded into a malicious grin.

“ _Die_!” Jhiaxus seethed as he felt Astro weaken, slowly but surely yielding to his will.

“Astro!” a feminine voice called from behind them, and Jhiaxus turned briefly to acknowledge it. He did not expect to see Thunderblast, of all femmes, standing there, poised as she aimed his own missile launcher directly at him.

He snarled in disgust, unwilling to release Astro from his grip, and immediately took a step toward her, dragging Astro with him.

That was his mistake. The femme fired the weapon without hesitation, and he felt the debilitating impact of his own energy missile as it ripped into his torso, burning a hole through his armor and sending jolts of high energy coursing through his circuitry.

He flayed and stumbled backwards as he attempted to reach out to her, but she continued to fire off the missiles, one after the other until, gradually, he had to release his grip on Astro as he dropped to his knees. With the realization of a mech who had just been betrayed, his face contorted with thoughts of utter hatred and revenge, he slowly fell forward until he hit the ground face first, and he was finally off-line.

* * *

Semi-darkness all around her, and then the sensation of nausea.

 _Don’t panic._ That was the first thought that entered her processor as she regained consciousness. _At least I’m still alive._

Or was she? Her frame felt heavy, though for some reason she couldn’t look down upon it. She could feel her arms, her legs, barely. She tried to move them, but couldn’t, and let out a soft groan.

Where was she, and how did she get here? She tried to recall the last thing she remembered before she’d lost consciousness. _The Gambler’s Den_ … and, Double?

She tried to speak. “Ugh… Chrome?” Nothing but cold silence. “Chromia? ‘Racer? Firestar?” Her voice increased in pitch, and she realized that she was beginning to panic. _Don’t panic!_

Feeling her strength slowly returning, she struggled against the energy restraints that secured her to a wall, her arms pinned at her sides. As her optics readjusted to the dimness around her, she carefully took in her surroundings and realized that she was alone inside some sort of chamber. Upon the wall adjacent to her, she couldn’t help but notice the remains of a long dead prisoner still hanging from its arms by its restraints, nothing left of it but a ghastly monument of its torture at the hands of some monster, and she found herself wishing that she was back on Cybertron with Optimus, safe and secure in his arms.

 _No._ She couldn’t rely on him – she had to think about her crew. She had gotten them all into this mess, and it was her full responsibility to get them out of it. Somehow.

As she contemplated her fate, and what would become of her and her crew, she heard the chamber door open, and her entire frame stiffened in anticipation of coming face-to-face with her abductor. She tried to push away the terrible fear in her mind, struggled to remain calm, but she seemed to have lost control of her fine motor functions. Her lips quivered and her air intakes increased sharply as a large, bulky figure entered the room and made his way closer until he stood directly in front of her.

Most of his features were obscured by the semi-darkness, but she could clearly make out his cruel, beast-like face, and it was nothing short of frightening. She could do nothing to stop him as he extended clawed fingers to caress her cheek, threatening to cut her face to shreds as he applied sudden pressure.

“Elita…” His voice was rough and menacing, though she could tell that he relished speaking her name out loud, slowly and deliberately. She tried to pull her face away from his touch, but it was no use.

“What… have you done… to them?” she managed, struggling to let out the words.

He drew his hand away, and then in a sudden, shocking instant slapped her hard across the cheek with an outstretched hand. “I ask the questions!” he warned her abruptly. He paused, watching her carefully as she avoided his gaze whilst trying to maintain a steady intake of air. “Be my good little Autobot femme… and perhaps I shall allow you to live,” he said. Then he slowly turned around, began to walk back towards the chamber door. “You will learn quickly,” he added before closing the door behind him and leaving her alone once more.


	17. Chapter 17

Under direct orders from Sentinel Prime, the Iaconian Autobots had been herded into an empty holding bay at gunpoint by a team of smug Neutrals, shortly after Sentinel’s official takeover of Iacon’s Command Center. The bay itself was one of four, and was located on the topmost level of the domed command post. A large hatch built into the ceiling was accessible from the inside, normally intended for use as an exit point of launch by any shuttle stationed inside the bay. Of course, it would have made the ideal escape route, but unfortunately for the imprisoned Autobots one of the Neutral guards had quickly noticed its potential and had destroyed the control panel with his blaster.

For a long while after, Streetwise did nothing but continually pace back and forth as he kept a close optic on the three Neutrals guarding the door, who stood facing them all with arms crossed, weapons visible by their sides. His pacing irritated his fellow team mates, though none were eager to rebuke him in front of the guards, should it give them any satisfaction or reason to stun them like they had done to Brawn. Prowl and Ironhide kept close by Optimus’ side, as if they were his personal shield, though neither of them had spoken a word since they’d all been locked up in the room, other than Ironhide issuing a reminder every now and again for the Aerialbots to keep quiet. The latter, in particular Silverbolt, Air Raid and Slingshot, had not been afraid to complain about the unforeseen turn of events between the three of them, whilst the mini bots Cliffjumper, Windcharger, Gears and Bumblebee all stood with their backs against a wall, demonstrating a surprising level of self-control as they whispered quietly among themselves so as not to attract the Neutrals’ attention.

When the door eventually opened, several more Neutral guards filed into the room until the space seemed to permeate with an invisible, cold presence that penetrated their very sparks. Supported between two of the guards by his upper arms was a semi-conscious mini bot with obvious signs of external damage. When Cliffjumper realized it was Brawn, he unthinkingly stepped forward with the foolish intention of perhaps rescuing his friend from his captors and protecting him from further harm, but he was quickly stopped by Bumblebee and Gears, who wisely held him back by grabbing hold of him.

One of the guards holding Brawn smirked, before they released their grip on the prisoner and jostled him roughly forward, causing the orange and olive green mini bot to stumble and collapse to the floor with a thud. Brawn remained where he had fallen, the sound of soft groaning the only indication that he was still aware.

The Autobots watched intently, bracing themselves with grim expectation for whatever would happen next. The smirking guard walked casually towards the group, his weapon drawn, taking his time to study each prisoner with an air of arrogant superiority, until his gaze finally settled upon the Autobot leader. Optimus returned his stare with an equal measure of self-assuredness, though his came from a place of stubborn steadfastness and inner resolve rather than from vain self-importance that was dependent upon bestowal by another. Despite his position of dominance, the guard couldn’t help but feel intimidated by the Matrix bearer, though if anything this only made him more angry.

“Sentinel Prime wanted me to return to you this useless piece of scrap. Don’t know why anyone’d bother,” the guard said, looking down with a snarl at Brawn, who remained sprawled on the floor, face down. “If it was up to me he’d have been recycled into spare parts long ago.” When he lifted his head back up to look at Optimus, his mouth was set into a cruel smile, though this did not last long.

Something about the way this Neutral had spoken must have hit a nerve with the Autobot leader, because before the guard even had time to realize what was happening he found himself being slammed against the wall, one strong hand tightening around his neck in a vice grip. The act was so unexpected and so forceful that none in the room had been prepared for it – not even the other guards, who almost outnumbered the Autobots. All they could do was look on in shock and disbelief as the Neutral, his weapon clutched uselessly in one hand, was completely at the mercy of Optimus Prime.

“Tell Sentinel Prime that if even so much as _one_ of my officers is needlessly killed because of your gross incompetence, I will personally see to it that he, along with all Neutrals, are held accountable under the Autobot-Neutral Alliance Code of Honour, and prosecuted to the fullest extent of our highest laws,” the Autobot leader threatened, his face mask obscuring the grim seriousness of his intent.

It took several moments for the Neutral to come to his senses, but then he scowled, his piercing yellow optics cold and lacking empathy, though he did not attempt to rebut Optimus’s warning. Instead he signalled to his team mates with a growl, a silent threat that promised to report them all to Sentinel if they didn’t wake from their stupor and help him deal with the Prime quickly. The familiar sound of blasters being raised towards Optimus gave him courage and he grabbed hold of the Autobot’s hand around his neck with both hands, attempting to pull it away. “ _Get… off… me_!” he managed to choke out, struggling against the leader mech as he pushed back against the heavy weight. “Or I’ll give… the order… to execute… you… right where… you stand!”

Optimus ignored the Neutral guards as they began to step closer towards him, surrounding him with their weapons, and abruptly released his grip around the guard’s neck, taking a small step back as he did so. The guard clutched at his throat in relief for several moments, his air intake system working to recover from the attack. Before he had a chance to speak, he was beaten to it.

“Somehow, I don’t think you have permission to give that order,” Optimus said, with a cold and calculated calmness that surprised even his closest friends.

The guard grunted in hatred and anger, though Optimus was right and he knew it. He steadied himself, standing back up to his full height to stare back at the Autobot leader. A vengeful, ruthless glee returned to his optics. “It doesn’t matter. You and your Autobots have already lost,” he said, slowly and with malice, and then brusquely brushed past the Prime before moving swiftly towards the door, giving his team the signal to follow him out. Reluctantly, with sneers and barely audible insults, the group of Neutral guards pulled back their weapons and began to file out of the room after him, leaving behind only the original three assigned to keep watch.

Once the door was sealed closed again, Ironhide turned to his leader in bewilderment. “Have you snapped a few relays? What in Tarn’s gotten into you, Prime? They could have fashioned you a new chassis, just like they did Brawn!” he exclaimed, indicating toward the fallen mini bot on the floor nearby. Meanwhile, Bumblebee and Cliffjumper had rushed to their friend’s aid as soon as the door had closed again, and were helping him sit up; immediately, the Protectobot medical officer, First Aid, also rushed forward to help, and they were relieved in the knowledge that at least Brawn was now in good hands.

Optimus chose to ignore Ironhide’s rebuke, however justified the artillery specialist may have been in voicing his disapproval, to focus instead on Brawn. He, too, was overcome with a wave of relief when he saw that the mini bot was still conscious and being cared for by First Aid, who continued to examine the extent of the damage that had been inflicted upon him by Neutral weapons fire. Turning to Ironhide, his optics were filled with determined clarity. “It isn’t over yet,” he said simply.

* * *

The small group of Autobots gathered inside Wheeljack’s old workshop in east Iacon anxiously awaited Ratchet’s arrival. The sound of vehicles zooming past along the main road outside only added to their uneasiness. When the door finally opened and the Chief Medical Officer slipped inside, an emergency repair kit in one hand as the door sealed automatically closed again behind him, Red Alert ceased his agitated pacing and rushed forward to greet him, Arcee by his side. Behind them and huddled together near the main work bench stood Trailbreaker, Hound, Smokescreen, Bluestreak, Hot Rod, and Groove; they appeared dazed, unsure of what was happening or of the reason for the sudden emergency evacuation of their command post.

“Ratchet, are you okay?” Red asked. “What happened?”

“I’m fine,” Ratchet replied, but he did not stop to chat. Instead he walked across to the desk located in one corner of the workshop and began to rummage frantically through the drawers. “I’m not sure what’s happened; I got out of there as quickly as I could.”

“What’s going on? Ratch?” Smokescreen asked cautiously.

“Is Optimus okay?” Bluestreak added, almost interrupting.

“What’s he _doing_?” Hot Rod asked of their repair specialist, exchanging glances with Hound, who simply shrugged.

The chief medic ignored all their questions and comments; he simply shook his head as he continued his desk search. He gave up and moved to a shelving unit situated along the back wall. As he began to examine the contents of one of the shelves, pushing data pads and scientific instruments roughly aside before going on to the next shelf, Arcee walked up to stand beside him.

“Ratchet?” she prodded.

Ratchet stopped abruptly when he found what he’d been looking for – a small, black case – and turned to face her, giving an exasperated groan. He drew in a deep cycle of air. “We can’t stay here in Iacon. We need to find help. I’d say Altihex is our safest bet, though I can’t be sure that _any_ place is safe – not anymore.” Noticing all their distraught faces, he took a few moments to collect his thoughts so he could properly explain to them what was going on; some already had half an inkling of the situation, but others – in particular Bluestreak, Trailbreaker and Hound – did not. For them, what he was about to tell them would come as a complete shock. “Listen to me. We, the Autobots, are under attack – but not by Decepticons.” He paused, forcing himself to speak more slowly so that they could all keep up. “We’re under attack by the Autobot-Neutral Alliance. A co-ordinated takeover of Iacon is probably happening as we speak – has probably already happened – led by Sentinel Prime and damned if I know who else is involved. The Council itself may have been infiltrated. Several Autobots have probably been turned, compromised – we don’t know how, but one thing’s for sure: Sentinel couldn’t have done this all on his own.” He allowed that to sink in for a moment before preparing himself to share with them the next piece of startling news. “It was Neutrals that attacked Groove… not Decepticons.”

“Wait – what did you say?” Trailbreaker said, breaking the awkwardness of the moment. He spoke in a low, uneven voice. Bluestreak let out a sharp gasp behind him.

“What?” Smokescreen whispered, glancing towards the Protectobot, half-consciously seeking confirmation that what Ratchet had just revealed to them was true, and not the result of faulty audial sensors. Groove gave him a simple, small nod.

“But, I – I thought Sideswipe was…” Trailbreaker murmured, incredulous. He could not believe what he’d just heard, but he couldn’t dismiss it, either, especially since it had come directly from Ratchet, of all mechs – a very good friend to all of them, and highly trusted.

“You thought Sideswipe was crazy,” Ratchet finished for him, nodding affirmatively. “Well, you might not be too far from the truth, though one thing I can say about him is that he _was_ right,” he added, and then shook his head in regret. “I won’t lie to you. He’s in a real bad way, but I can’t help him right now. We have a much larger problem, and if we don’t do _something_ , we’ll all soon be history.”

“How?” Hound asked. “How can this be happening?”

Ratchet turned to face him, and realized that the tracker wasn’t talking about Sideswipe. “I’ll be honest. At this stage I only have more questions than I have answers. I’ve no idea who might be working with Sentinel, or how many are involved, or even how deep this all goes. But it goes deep.” He paused, turning away slowly. “Dammit, I should have seen it coming. _We all should have seen it coming_!” His sudden outburst of anger as he slammed a fist down upon the work bench carried with it a strong wave of guilt and regret that echoed around the work shop and drowned out all other thoughts and emotions.

The room fell silent, and no one dared speak. Not one of them had ever witnessed Ratchet lose control in such a way, as the full seriousness and enormity of the situation began to dawn in his awareness, and he could not hold back the tears that began to well around his optics, threatening to break him. “Wheeljack… Blurr, Warpath, Inferno, Hoist… so many more… all of them dead, and for _what_?” he continued, speaking now in a hoarse whisper as he struggled to regain control. He did not expect any of them to offer him condolences, and they did not. Bringing up the names of their beloved deceased was just as painful for him as it was for each and every bot present; yet, in a way, somehow, it made him feel better. Perhaps because, for the first time since the end of the Great War, he was allowed to release all of his buried grief – for those lives that had been lost – but especially now that Sentinel’s planned takeover was beginning to turn into a crude reality.

Yet he still had to think about those who were alive today – if he didn’t do something to help them, they might all end up in a far worse situation than what he could even imagine. It wasn’t too late for _them_ , at least, and if he didn’t take charge of things in the here and now, that crude reality could quickly escalate into an unimaginable nightmare. Time was very, very short.

A gentle hand upon his shoulder both appalled and comforted him all at the same time, and it took him a great effort of will not to push Arcee away. She wasn’t to blame. None of them were, not really.

He turned back to face them, opened the black case and retrieved a handful of small, rectangular objects, began to hand them out. “There’ll probably be security teams searching for us. We can’t afford to get caught. I want each of you to wear one of these. They’re neuro-control chips. They should help protect you from most forms of psychological attack. They’re not fool proof – they weren’t designed for that purpose – but it’s better than nothing.” Then he took one for himself and attached it to the back of his neck, showing them how to install it.

Once they’d attached their own chips in the same manner, Arcee looked at him, distraught. “Oh Ratchet, what are we going to do?”

He levelled his blue optics at her before surveying the rest of the Autobots in the room, just as an army general might survey his troops. The lachrymose fluid that had formed a faint gleam around his optics was now all but gone. “What are we going to do? I’ll tell you what we’re going to do. Trailbreaker, you take Smokescreen, Bluestreak and Red Alert and head to Altihex. See if there’s anyone there who can help us – or who might need _our_ help. Hound, Hot Rod, Bluestreak – the rest of you, we’re going to try and secure the Decagon – hopefully it’s not too late.”

Optics stared back at him in bewilderment. “The Decagon?” Hound repeated. “But what if it’s already been taken? There’s no way in hell we’d be able to get inside–”

“I _know_ that,” Ratchet interjected forcefully. “But we’ve got to do _something_. At least try to warn our mechs stationed there and hope to Primus that they haven’t fallen under the same spell. Look, if the Autobots lose _that_ control center, then there’s not much hope for us.”

They all knew that Ratchet had a good point. The Decagon, or the Autobase as it was casually referred to, was the Autobot’s main control center for the entire planet’s security and defense network, and it would be one of the very first targets that Sentinel and the Neutrals would attempt to take control of, after the Iacon Command Center. Strategically, if they could get to the Decagon before Sentinel’s army did, then they might still have a fighting chance.

“We’ll have a much better chance of reaching it without being captured if we go through the catacombs,” Ratchet added, planning ahead for any foreseeable problems his team might have to face. No one had any better suggestions or ideas, and in that quiet moment that followed the decision was final. They each understood what needed to be done.

“Alright,” Trailbreaker said, looking at his team and drawing in a deep cycle of air before audibly releasing it again. “Let’s not waste any time.”

* * *

Watching First Aid perform his duty as the Autobots’ medical officer among them, Optimus was reminded of all those who had not showed up for Sentinel’s fateful meeting an hour earlier – when the former Autobot Prime had acted upon his lawful right to take control of Iacon – and he wondered whether they were all safe. Ratchet, in particular, must have known the purpose for the meeting, because he had been unusually absent, as had Arcee, Red Alert, and Groove. He quietly thanked his Chief Medical Officer for acting prudently, and hoped that they would not be found by Alliance officers and brought in. As long as there were free Autobots out there who were still compos mentis – unlike those from Antihex – and could go and find help, there was still hope.

“Uh, Optimus?”

The softly spoken voice jolted him from his thoughts and he looked across at the Protectobot, who had just finished examining Brawn.

“Optimus?” First Aid said again, and the Autobot leader walked over, ignoring the contemptuous looks from the three Neutrals as they stood guard by the door.

“How is he doing?” he asked in a low voice, coming to a stop beside the medical expert and glancing down at Brawn, who remained in a sitting position while looking down at the floor, somewhat dazed.

“He took quite a hit. Looks like they roughed him up a bit, too,” First Aid paused, looking back at him with concern. “But, he’ll be alright.”

The Autobot leader gave him a brief glance in acknowledgment before crouching down to Brawn’s level, placing a comforting hand on the tough mini bot’s shoulder. “How are you feeling, big guy?”

Brawn slowly raised his head until his blue optics met Prime’s and he groaned, then tightened his right fist into a ball. His face plating was scraped and lacerated, and a trail of spilled energon had left a mark running down from one corner of his mouth. “I’d like ta… kick ‘em to the moon base… until they’re–” he began, but was unable to complete his sentence as he coughed and sputtered, doubling over and holding his left hand against a puncture wound in his midsection. If he wasn’t careful he could rupture a fuel line.

First Aid bent down to steady him. “Hey now, take it easy. I won’t be able to fix you here if you spill your fuel,” he said in an empathic yet stern voice. Brawn tried to brush him away, but he was too weak to be of any effect.

Optimus gave Brawn a pat on the shoulder. “Take it easy. That’s an order,” he said gently, and then stood up again, allowing First Aid to reposition the mini bot so that he would be more comfortable. Then, before he could think what to do next, Streetwise demanded his attention.

The Protectobot had been agitated the entire time, but had finally found the courage to confront their leader, though he was still wary of the three Neutral guards close by and managed to keep his voice down to a harsh whisper. “Prime, _sir_! How could you have let Sentinel do this?! You almost let him get away with _murder_ , and all you can do is just stand there and tell us that he has some _right_ to do what he’s doing, because of some damned Agreement?” Exasperated, he shook his head in disgust, finding it difficult to suppress his anger.

“Streetwise, back down–” Hot Spot warned him irately, but he was quickly dismissed by his belligerent team mate. Streetwise signalled with a raised, open hand, without turning to look at him.

“ _No_ – I won’t!” Streetwise continued, keeping his gaze fixed on the Prime. “Not after everything that’s happened.” He faltered, wondering whether it was the right time to confront Optimus with what had been weighing heavily on his conscience ever since he had returned from Darkmount with Groove’s primary systems link. It was as good a time as any, he decided after a tense moment or two. “Not after he _allowed_ Jazz to join the _Decepticons_ ,” he said with venom, though the volume from his vocalizer had dropped to a threateningly low level, too low for the guards to hear his words but not low enough for Optimus to miss a single one. The room became impossibly still, so much so that it felt as though time had slowed right down.

The confusion and bitterness that clouded Streetwise’s countenance caused Optimus to wonder at how quickly his world had fallen apart, beginning with Elita and then Jazz, Groove, Sideswipe, and now Sentinel, and how it had all culminated to this point. Streetwise, once a friend, now felt like a stranger, and he wondered how many other Autobots felt the same way that the Protectobot did, though were too courteous or perhaps too afraid to speak up. How had it all gone so wrong? How could he have let them all down? And in that moment, confronted by the consequences of his decisions, Megatron’s words echoed in his mind, when the Decepticon leader had defiantly paid one last visit to the Iacon Command Center only a few weeks back, but which now felt like forever ago:

_‘I will not allow them to jeopardize all that we have stood for, Prime - even if it means going directly against their ruling. You know as well as I do that the Neutral-Autobot Alliance is just a cover.’_

He had not believed it back then – not for one moment. But now…

_‘They will infiltrate your command structure and take control, and then they will be left without opposition. It's what they've always wanted.’_

Looking back now, he realized that Megatron had risked his freedom, even his own life, to try to bring to him the truth of this message in person, walking into the midst of Alliance territory unaccompanied and seeking only to speak with him. Why would he have done such a thing? There would have been no advantage for him to do so, yet… Optimus had refused to accept the possibility that perhaps the Decepticons were anything other than liars and war criminals, had been completely blind to the sordid truth that had yet to play out until it would be almost too late, had utterly failed to take heed of his warning… and then, then he had turned away from those who had needed him most.

“That’s enough,” he finally replied, his voice wavering, the words barely audible though laced with a raw emotion that had suddenly sprung up from somewhere deep within him. It was partly regret, but mostly it was long-denied _outrage_.

Unfortunately, Streetwise was completely unaware of Optimus’ own inner turmoil, or of the very real anguish that accompanied it. All that he was aware of in that moment were the dismal circumstances that they all found themselves in, of the incredible transgressions that had recently been done against Groove – and previously against Autobots before him – and that there were those who _could_ have prevented it, but that for only Primus knew what reason, had not.

“How could you have let him get away with it, Prime? The way I see it, Jazz is a slaggin’ traitor. He deserves to die just like the rest of those slag–”

So when he felt the sharp, stinging sensation of an opened palm striking his left cheek with such force that he stumbled backwards, his head jerking sideways with the impact, he was taken completely by surprise. His rudeness and anger were replaced with shock, and a certain amount of fear – not of Optimus Prime himself, but of the Autobot leader’s unrestrained fury that was being focused directly at him.

“I said that’s _enough_!”

This time, Optimus’ voice was loud and clear. The three guards by the door became alerted to the sudden altercation and had reached for their weapons, ready to break up the skirmish and knock some disciplinary sense into the prisoners, but they did not need to – it seemed that the disagreement was over as quickly as it had begun. Optimus turned to slowly pace away from Streetwise, ignoring the looks of astonishment and concern upon the faces of the rest of the Autobots.

Not even Ironhide had expected his leader and good friend to lose control of his temper in the way he just had, even if only for a mere few astro-seconds, regardless of how spiteful or misguided Streetwise’s words had been. Still, after all that had happened, he could only imagine what Optimus must be going through at this moment, and he understood. “Prime, we’ll find a way out of this mess. I know we will,” he said as softly as his vocal processor would allow. Beside him, Prowl watched intently though he refrained from speaking.

Prime ignored them both and turned back slowly to face Streetwise, mindful of Brawn by his feet and the other mini bots still gathered about him. The Protectobot interceptor had sunk down to sit on the floor, head down and looking defeated. He spoke again, this time in a tone that was much calmer and more controlled than it had been only moments before, and Streetwise slowly lifted his head to meet his gaze. “Jazz did what he had to do. I don’t expect you to understand.” He faltered, searching for the right words that adequately matched his sentiments. “Please, forgive me,” he said finally, before turning away again without waiting for a response.

Even if Streetwise had wanted to give Optimus a response, he did not get the opportunity because at that moment the door to the holding bay opened, and waiting outside was the same group of Neutrals that had brought Brawn in earlier. One of the guards stepped inside, his weapon drawn, and after a brief glance around at the Autobot hostages he directed Optimus to follow him outside with a rough shove. When Ironhide attempted to step in between them, he was pushed back inside the bay.

“Not you! Only him,” the guard said, nodding towards the Autobot leader. “Come on, let’s go.”

Optimus resisted and pulled away from the Neutral. “No, I’m not going anywhere without them,” he declared stubbornly, indicating the other Autobots in the room.

The guard signaled to his team to prepare to remove the Prime from the room, by force if necessary. “Sentinel wants a word with you,” he informed the Autobot leader impatiently. “So you can either come with us willingly, or we can haul your sorry chassis out of here in restraints. It’s your choice.”

The look Optimus gave him was one of stoic defiance, but before he could solidify his decision and tell the guard so be it and to go to hell, Prowl encouraged him to take the easier option. “Go with him, Prime. We’ll be okay.” And so, after a few astro-seconds of hesitation, he relented and began to make his way out of the room, ahead of two Neutral guards.

* * *

Soon after the meeting with the Decepticons, Wheeljack had returned to the Constructicons’ work area to catch up on some more rest and to collect his thoughts. The Decepticon gestalt team had also disappeared to help set up some temporary quarters for the recently rescued Combaticons, and so eventually Jazz was left alone in the meeting room with Rumble. The Cassetticon sat across from him at the central table with his arms crossed in front of him, one foot resting on the opposite knee. He seemed withdrawn, lost in thought, and there was an impartial expression on his face that could have almost fooled Jazz.

“Mind if I ask you something?” The Autobot’s voice sounded harsh in the quiet aftermath of the celebratory din that had surrounded his audial sensors only a short time ago. To him it felt as if the rest of the world had fallen away, leaving only the two of them to contemplate the phenomenon that was their solid reality. His seemingly casual enquiry was met with a delayed shrug, and he understood it for what it was – barely noticeable permission for him to continue. “I couldn’t help but notice back at the Detention Banks… you were hoping to find someone there. That true?” He paused, watching the Cassetticon for an initial response – he could tell that something weighed heavily on his mind. He received another shrug, followed by a shift of focus and a tilting of his head slightly towards him. Rumble’s optics were covered by a red visor, but Jazz was pretty certain that he had caught his attention.

“Yeah, so?”

Jazz imitated his shrug. He didn’t want to irk the smaller mech, or come across as intimidating, particularly when trust between an Autobot and a Decepticon was still a very novel and alien notion. He had no expectation of being fully trusted, that much was true, though he liked to think that perhaps he had gained some ground toward that end ever since he’d helped rescue Scavenger, and he didn’t want to lose the trust he’d earned thus far. Still, if he was going to prove himself to them, then he had to show them who he truly was – he had to be authentic, without any fear or regrets. “Mind if I ask what happened to your brother?”

The impact of his question was compounded by Rumble’s intense visage – or perhaps it was subdued shock at being confronted with something so personal, Jazz couldn’t say for sure – but he hoped that he wasn’t being too forthcoming, or that he hadn’t pushed the wrong button, asked the wrong question. So when Rumble gave him a reply, it was not what he had imagined it to be.

“Mind if I ask you something first?”

“Nope – go ahead.”

“How are you Autobots going to live with yourselves when you finally find out that everything you ever thought was true, was all really a lie?”

Rumble looked away again, not expecting Jazz to give him an answer. In the stillness that followed, Jazz really had no answer, though he felt that he genuinely owed him at least some kind of response. “Believe it or not, I’ve been wondering the same thing myself,” he said. “I never wished for any of this. We all should have been living our final Golden Age by now. And you’re right – I have no clue how most of the Autobots are going to handle things when the scrap hits the fan. I can’t speak for any of them, but I can tell you this: it isn’t going to be easy.” He continued to observe the Cassetticon, who didn’t react, until several long moments had passed by in silence. “It’s your turn now, you know,” he prompted, “to answer my question.”

Once again, contrary to Jazz’s expectations, Rumble relaxed his shoulders and arms a little, shifting his gaze back towards the Autobot. “Me and him, we were on a mission together, but we… we got separated.”

Jazz knew there was more to the story – much more – but Rumble gave him no indication that he wanted to offer him any further information. “Was he captured?” he ventured, empathy underlying his tone.

“I can’t tell you anything more than that,” Rumble responded flatly.

“Because you don’t know? Or because you won’t tell me?”

“Because I don’t know!” It was clear that Rumble was upset, though Jazz got the sense that it didn’t have anything to do with him bringing up the topic. Rumble lacked information about his brother’s status and whereabouts, and it was killing him.

“Hey, I’m sorry to hear about that. I really am,” Jazz said after a pause.

The Decepticon who sat before him was far removed from the image of the tough, uncouth punk that had so often been pictured by the Autobots back in Iacon. Beyond that ostensible façade was a mech who had experienced his fair share of loss and hardships, and whose capacity for empathy and perspicacity was visible just beneath the surface, if one cared to take notice.

After a few more seconds of silence, Rumble stood from his chair. When he spoke again, it was as if he had shrugged off the whole, painful memory, left with no other recourse but to put it all aside for the greater good. “Let’s go see if Megatron needs us,” he said, and with that made his way out of the room. Jazz watched him leave, then rose and followed him out.

* * *

Far from a picture of dysfunction or dystopian ruin, the current state of affairs at Iacon’s Command Center looked nothing like what Optimus might have expected. So, this is what a takeover looks like, he thought with a crude sense of fatedness. It wasn’t like some kind of internment camp in the middle of a torn battleground, littered with the chassis of once rebellious mechs but who now lay still. Instead, he saw a vastly different version of reality as he was led down the transport platform and along the hallway that led to the control room. The command post appeared to be operating very smoothly, more smoothly than he had ever seen it – like a perfectly well-oiled machine; a large number of both Neutral and Autobot officers going about their duties in a most orderly and competent manner, as if there was nothing else in the world that they ought to have been doing and that, if he were to confront any one of them about a takeover, their immediate response would have been that the very ludicrous notion existed only in his vivid though deluded imagination.

In a similar, convoluted manner, Sentinel Prime seemed to portray the epitome of a well-respected and revered leader whose sole purpose for being was the exemplification of commitment, integrity and honour. Within the space of barely an hour, his entire persona had transformed from that of a single-minded and callous dictator, to that of a mech who was confidently in charge and cautiously optimistic. Abruptly stopping whatever important business had occupied his attention, he turned to greet Optimus with a smile upon his face, when the Autobot leader was brought into the control room. The Neutral guards were dismissed with a quick wave, as were the two Autobots at their stations, and as the door closed after them Optimus was left alone with his former mentor.

“Ah – please, take a seat,” Sentinel proffered, extending out a hand as he rose from where he’d been seated at one of the main control terminals. Not even Optimus’ unyielding, stubborn audacity could deter his high spirits; ignoring the cold stare of the Autobot leader’s blue optics he instead proceeded to discuss the current situation. “I really must extend my apologies, Optimus. I never wanted things to come to this, you must understand. If there had been a better way–”

The Neutral leader was cut off abruptly, his shallow attempt at any reconciliation, or explanation for his recent course of action seen for what it was. “Why are you doing this?”

It was an honest and straightforward question; nonetheless, it made Sentinel visibly uncomfortable to hear it being asked of him. The expression on his face became serious as his smile faded. “As I was saying, if there had been a better way...” He gave Optimus a regretful sigh and slowly sat down again, avoiding the other’s gaze as he pondered his next words. “There is no use resisting what is happening, Optimus. In fact, your energy and resources would be far better spent helping the Alliance ensure Cybertron’s security and prosperity.” His optics leveled upon the Autobot leader with renewed confidence in his ability to persuade the younger Prime, and his tone became emphatic – almost imploring – energized with the unlimited potential that Optimus’ approval and support could offer them in conquering their mutual enemies. “Don’t you see? It is inevitable! If we would only stand united – you and I, just like the old days – we would be _invincible_. Our enemies would not stand a chance!”

“Our enemies?” Optimus considered carefully his response. “And who would they be, exactly?”

Sentinel could only look back at him in sorrowful disappointment, as if the very fact that he should be asking such a question was utterly absurd. “The Decepticons, of course. Who else?” Optimus gave a small nod in acknowledgment, though kept his thoughts and feelings to himself, and Sentinel continued, switching to a more formal tone. “I thought you should know that I have reinstated the High Council’s directive. The Decepticons have become too much of a danger to us all, and must be stopped. In addition, I have sent out several search teams for the remainder of your crew. Once found, they shall be brought straight back here – for their own safety.” He paused, watching Optimus intently. The Autobot leader wore his battle mask, and so his optics were the only part of his features that might give away his unspoken sentiments. “Oh, but you needn’t be alarmed – my teams have been given strict instructions not to harm them.”

As if it was supposed to be some kind of reassurance, or perhaps a token of friendship that was being extended. Optimus wanted to confront the red and black mech, interrogate him about his true motives, but for now all he could manage was a simple, “I see.”

While it was apparent that the level two lockdown sequence Prowl must have initiated just before the takeover had since been overridden by Sentinel or his subjects, it would nonetheless have given Ratchet and the other Autobots who were with him enough time to escape.

Sentinel continued unperturbed, though his tone softened. “I also thought you’d want to know: I have news of Elita.”

The mention of his partner’s name made him suddenly take notice, and he took an unconscious step closer toward Sentinel. “Elita? Where is she? Is she alright?” he demanded all at once. He couldn’t help it; truth be told he’d been beyond worry over her during the past weeks – ever since she’d left for Alternity City without his consent or approval – and it had been one of the core reasons for his general moodiness and dispiritedness of late. In the hope that his restless mind might be put at ease he was eager to hear the news, though he also dreaded it at the same time.

The leader of the Neutrals once again indicated for him to take a seat. “Please,” he said, and waited with what seemed like all the patience in the world, until finally Optimus relented and slowly sat down in a chair opposite him. Then Sentinel took a deep cycle of air, fixed his gaze directly at the Autobot Commander, and gave him the news he had so anxiously waited to hear. “She is still on Alternity City. However, I have just received word that she has been captured. The good news is my sources have confirmed that she _is_ alive, and relatively unharmed – at least for now – although any more than that I cannot say for sure.”

 _She is still alive._ _Elita is still alive._

“Captured?” He bowed his head in sorrow and disbelief, glancing down towards the floor. _Captured, yet still alive_. In the midst of his confusion and grief he did not know what to think, had no clue of what he could possibly do to save her. “Captured…” he repeated after several long moments, then lifted his head to meet Sentinel’s gaze. “How? Who has done this?”

Sentinel clasped his hands together. “We believe that she is being held hostage by a Decepticon ally, in an underground stronghold somewhere in Hitec. Rest assured, Optimus, that I will do everything in my power to have her returned safely, I promise you.”

“No.” Optimus shook his head, struggling to accept the truth that his long-time companion, and co-commander of the Autobots, had been captured and was being held prisoner. From what he knew of Alternity City – a world rife with unspoken dangers and dominated by malevolent regimes – there was a very slim chance that she would ever be rescued, let alone be able to get out of there alive. “No.”

“I’m sorry, Optimus–”

“No!” Abruptly he rose and turned away from Sentinel to stand, motionless, for many long seconds. Then, when he’d managed to regain some sense of control again he spoke, but did not bother to try to conceal the grief that threatened to tear his spark from his chest. “I wish to be returned to the holding bay.”

Rather than beseeching Sentinel’s help or opening up to him, Optimus seemed to be doing the exact opposite, closing himself off emotionally and rejecting any possibility of renewing their partnership. It was not what Sentinel had hoped for. “I have decided against transferring your Autobots to the cell blocks, for now. I thought that perhaps if they might come to see reason–” the Neutral leader began as he slowly stood up.

“I wish to be returned now,” Optimus repeated, showing no regard for Sentinel’s display of leniency.

“Optimus–”

“Now!” he demanded, more forcefully this time, his back still turned to the former Prime.

Knowing Optimus quite well, Sentinel knew that the Autobot leader would be inconsolable and so, instead of attempting to persuade him, he granted him his request. There was always next time, and sooner or later he would be faced with no other choice but to reach out for Sentinel’s help.

* * *

After Elita’s encounter with the hideous monster that held her captive, and in her panic and desperation, she thought about powering down so that she would be oblivious to the harsh reality that she found herself in, some part of her hoping that she‘d later wake up to realize that her abduction and subsequent solitary confinement had been nothing more than a terrifying nightmare. But some other part of her knew that she had to keep fighting and praying that this would not be the end, that she was destined for greater things than to become nothing more than the play object of some depraved tyrant.

Just when she thought that she couldn’t bear the loneliness and despair any longer, with the turbo-rats borne from the darkness of the chamber her only companions, she heard footfalls approaching in the passageway outside, and then the chamber door creaked open. Instantly her frame tensed with fear, and once again she trembled, dreading another encounter with the beast lord or one of his equally merciless subordinates.

Two mechanoids stepped inside the room and silently moved towards her. When she saw what they looked like, the tension within her subsided, though she remained wary. They were neither Neutrals, nor were they Cybertronians – but possibly natives of Alternity City; local lowlifes who had either been recruited voluntarily to serve the slagger that ruled this place, or who had been given no other choice but to obey him or die.

One of them reached towards her and plunged a small, round object into her neck. She instantly recognized it as an anti-transformation device, which she was sure would also be used to control her behaviour and keep her in line. It was the same sort of device they used on inmates of Garrus 13 to prevent them from attempting to break out. She groaned softly as she felt its needle-like probe sink in and connect to her neural circuitry. The mech released her from her restraints and she stumbled forward, away from the wall and into their grasp. “If you try to take that thing off or try to run, you won’t make it two steps. Now move it,” he said. Then the two of them dragged her out of the chamber and led her down the passageway, holding her firmly between them by both her arms.

*

The network of tunnels and chambers that made up the underground base was large – much larger than Elita had imagined any base could be. She had never stepped foot inside this place before, and as she was led through the never-ending labyrinth, descending down through several levels – each more isolated and more eerie and surreal than the one above it – her feelings of desperation and panic markedly increased. A terrified scream, followed by the moans and whimpers of some hapless soul drifted toward her from somewhere in the gloomy distance – a prisoner doomed to eventually die in his unmarked cell within this hell-hole – made her wish that she had never left Cybertron. Even if I do manage to break free, how will I ever find my way out of here? This was her thought as the two guards brought her to an abrupt stop in front of a sleek, metallic door. As soon as they approached, the door slid open automatically and they stepped through into a large room. She could not make out any details straight away due to the sudden glare of stark, white light that flooded her optics, momentarily blinding her – she tried to shield them with her hand, but the guards held her arms firm.

Futilely, she struggled against them, trying to break free even when she knew full well that she had no chance. The two of them together overpowered her easily, and they dragged her forward into the middle of the room. Raising her arms roughly above her head, they secured both her wrists together with energy restraints that were then attached to a heavy ring that hung down from the ceiling. Before they left her alone again, the other guard, this time, gave her some parting words. “Don’t go anywhere, now – and don’t be too lonely: someone will be with you real soon,” he said with mock sympathy. This was followed by the sounds of amused chuckling that gradually faded as the two of them made their way out of the room and back down along the tunnel, the door swishing closed behind them.

It took Elita a few seconds for her optics to adjust to the bright overhead lights. After having been kept in semi-darkness for several long hours with nothing to keep her company but her own rotating thoughts – and the turbo-rats – the gleam of the polished metallic walls and ceiling of this new space was in harsh contrast to the gloom of the dingy chamber, and she found it unwelcoming, almost unbearable. Taking in her surroundings, she noticed that the room was well equipped with shackles and various torture devices, the entire back wall adorned with a shelf full of energy whips and prods. Looking down, she couldn’t ignore the energon stains that decorated much of the smooth floor. But the thing that bothered her most was the set of luxurious lounge chairs that were arranged in a semi-circular fashion, facing towards her. What kind of room was this? Did they torture prisoners here as a form of personal entertainment? Was that the reason she had been brought here? The very idea both frightened and disgusted her. She pushed away the thought and tried to free her wrists from her restraints using sheer force, but all she managed to achieve was to cause her frame to swing helplessly to and fro as she continued to hang by her arms from the ceiling ring, her feet barely able to make contact with the floor. She grunted, strove to regain equilibrium, and then resigned herself to her predicament, at least for the time being.

* * *

When Astro awoke from a momentary lapse in consciousness, still struggling to cycle air as he lay sprawled on the ground near Jhiaxus’ inert and smoking frame, the first thing he heard was Thunderblast calling his name.

“Astro? Astro, wake up!”

He let out a groan, fought to clear his head and refocus his vision, and then turned his head toward the sound of her voice as he attempted to pick himself up. Still weakened by his fight with the powerful jet-former, he faltered and dropped back down again. As his vision cleared, Astro looked up to see the Cybertronian femme standing there in front of him, a hand over her mouth and yellow optics wide with astonishment. She appeared to be in a state of shock, unsure of what to do. A moment later she realized that she still held Jhiaxus’ missile launcher in her hands, and she quickly threw it down on the ground away from her, as if it harboured some deadly contagion.

With renewed effort, Astro pushed himself up to his hands and knees, and felt Rook’s steadying hands grabbing his arm as the smaller mech rushed to his aid, but he gently pushed him away, focusing instead on Jhiaxus’ burned out form that lay face down in front of him. He crawled forward and shifted his position until he was directly above the still frame. Then, ignoring the sparks and crackling of severed connections along the edge of the gaping hole in the chassis, he roughly turned the body of the jet over with both hands. One of Jhiaxus’ arms flopped on the floor beside him with a heavy thump. Astro examined the off-lined mech closely for several seconds, and then pushed the motionless, damaged body away from him.

Glancing around, he saw several pairs of optics staring back at him in anticipation and apprehension. Rook knelt beside him, while Thunderblast continued to stand by and watch in candid disbelief, unable to tear her gaze away from the ruin that was Jhiaxus. Beside her, the yellow Autobot began to slowly pick himself up off the floor where he’d been knocked down by the enemy jet, and a few feet away, near the ruined dividing wall, appeared the Autobot femmes, their weapons still in hand, confusion and uncertainty clouding their expressions. A few seconds later, Dirge and Thrust burst onto the scene, pushing past the femmes but then stopping short as they took in the aftermath of the battle that had just played out in their absence. Not one of them made another move, as they all watched and waited intently for Astro to say or do something.

Still cycling air to cool his systems as he recovered from the exertion of his battle against Jhiaxus, the blue Cybertronian took the time to acknowledge them all, until finally he spoke. “His spark chamber’s still intact, though he won’t make it without some basic repairs,” he informed them, indicating Jhiaxus.

Without waiting for their response, Astro then turned his attention to the off-lined seeker a few feet away, and scrambled towards him as quickly as he could to immediately appraise his physical condition; unlike with Jhiaxus, however, this time he did so with great care and attention, reaching out with one hand to gently touch the side of Comet’s face. He shifted his weight until he was crouching low, close to Comet’s still form. Then, reaching down, he positioned his arms underneath the seeker’s frame, holding him firmly, and slowly stood up, lifting Comet carefully as he did so. Taking a few steps toward Thunderblast, he told her simply, “We need to get him away from here.”

The femme looked at him incredulously, before motioning toward the unconscious Comet. “But is he going to be okay?” she asked in an exaggerated, distraught tone.

Astro regarded her impassively, noticed the penetrating stare of the tall, yellow Autobot standing beside her. He answered her with unwavering resoluteness. “He’ll be fine. But I’ll need to get him to a safe place, preferably one with a recharging station, and some medical equipment.”

“How about our little pad in the Northern Heights?” Dirge suggested after a pause, and did his best to ignore a dirty glance from Thunderblast for mentioning the place where he’d taken her in order to deceive her.

His idea was quickly rejected, as Astro shook his head. “No; it’s probably no longer safe there.” He paused and glanced behind him to look back down at Jhiaxus’ unmoving frame. “We’ll also be taking him with us,” he added.

Rook’s strained face immediately showed his obvious displeasure with the notion. “Ugh, must we?” he replied.

Astro turned his head to catch the smaller mech’s gaze, though his yellow optics were steadfast. “Yes, Rook. We’re going to need him alive,” he explained, before shifting his attention toward the Autobot femmes, then added with a calm assuredness that could only have come from a mech who had fought and survived countless battles, “if there’s any chance of rescuing Elita One.”

Moonracer drew back in shock at the mention of her team commander’s name, placing a hand to her mouth in an attempt to stifle a cry. She was joyous with expectation but fearful all at once, and Chromia reached out to hold her free hand, squeezing it in reassurance and in hope for their friend and team leader. Beside them Firestar said nothing, but challenged Astro with a questioning, critical look.

Gently letting go of Moonracer’s hand, Chromia stepped toward Astro, then looked down to gaze upon the face of the unconscious mech in his arms. She could see that the unfamiliar seeker had lived through a rough journey, though a formidable spirit was clearly evident upon his features, a wilful determination ever present behind the dimmed optics. She did not recognize him, though from the way Astro was protecting him and from his unspoken sentiment, she could tell that he was important to them, almost in a regal sort of way, though she couldn’t quite define it nor could she comprehend it.

“If you like, we’ve got a place back in Koltar you could use. It’s only a temporary set up, but we have a recharging unit, plus a few medical supplies and other equipment that we managed to salvage from our cruiser when we crashed here,” Chromia said, meeting Astro’s gaze.

“We’ve also got the transmitter, plus our long range scanner–” Moonracer added, quickly stepping toward the blue femme in eagerness, but stopped short when Chromia indicated for her to curb her enthusiasm with a raised hand.

Astro regarded the two of them for a moment, considering their offer. He might be able to send word back to Cybertron, if their transmitter was powerful enough. Making his decision, he gave Chromia a small nod in appreciation. “Then, let’s get moving,” he said, and stepped past her on his way out of the ruined building. Before he disappeared around the partitioning with Comet, he paused only long enough to convey further instructions to Dirge and Thrust with a brief tilt of his head towards Jhiaxus.

The conehead grimaced but then resigned himself to the task, moving quickly to lift Jhiaxus’ frame by both arms with Thrust’s help, and together they followed Astro out of the building, dragging the body of the Hitec’s off-lined second in charge between them.

Thunderblast and Rook followed them out, until only the three femmes and Sunstreaker were left. Up until that point, things had happened so fast that the femmes had had hardly any time to acknowledge Sunstreaker, or express their joy and gratitude at seeing the estranged Autobot. But now, in the aftermath of the intense chase and battle against Jhiaxus and his enforcers, that all changed.

As far as the femmes were concerned, seeing Sunstreaker now – in such a sorry state yet still very much alive and well – was like being reunited with a long-dead loved one. There really were no words that could have described their wonderment and elation upon recognizing him, nor were they truly necessary.

“Oh, Sunstreaker!” Moonracer fell into an embrace, and his welcoming arms wrapped around her with sweet comfort. She found herself needing his strength and reassurance just as much as he needed hers, and then, thoughts of Elita once again reminding her that their journey was still far from over, she began to sob.

Chromia placed a comforting arm around her friend’s shoulders, and when Moonracer gently pulled away from Sunstreaker it was her turn to show him just how much he had been missed – not only by her and her crew, but also by all those back home who had come to believe that he was no longer alive.

Firestar watched Chromia as she offered him a heartfelt embrace, and when her friend finally stepped back she shared with him a quick hug and an elated smile. “It’s damn good to see you, Sunstreaker,” she said emphatically, then shook her head. “But what in Primus’ name are you _doing_ here?”

Sunstreaker offered her a simple smile in return. “I was going to ask you three the same thing.” With a gentle hand upon Firestar’s forearm and the other placed around Chromia’s shoulders, he slowly guided them out of the burnt-out floor. “I’m sure we’ve got a lot of catching up to do, but what do you say we get out of here first?”

* * *

When the door slid open behind her, Elita One had no inkling as to who might have come to pay her a visit this time, though the first image that invaded her mind was the vulgar face of whom she’d assumed to be the cruel commander of this base, his beastly features and long, clawed fingers still fresh in her memory. Hanging by her wrists in the center of the room and with her back to the door, it was an effort for her to turn her head in order to see who had entered, so she didn’t bother to try; instead, her frame tensed visibly as she prepared to face the worst, her gaze fixed straight ahead.

Though not as heavyset as the supreme commander of the base, her visitor’s frame was still quite large. The first thing she noticed about him as he strode into view before her with weighty, confident strides was his broad, cyan-colored chest. The rest of his color scheme consisted of a mix of white and purple, and along with his heavy armor he sported a set of long, thin wings on his back that were pointed upwards. Needless to say, she recognized him instantly.

“Well, well. Hello, darling,” he said, ogling her feminine, pink form and nodding in approval. He was much taller than she was, and much bigger. “How does a rare beauty like yourself get all lost in this slagging pit-hole of a place, huh?” She didn’t respond, as he reached out to touch her cheek with one hand. “Oh, come now, don’t be frightened. I’ll tell you what; to help take your mind off things, you and I are going to have a little fun! How’s that sound?” He grabbed her face and roughly turned her head, first to one side and then the other, appraising her as if she were a shiny new ornament for his trophy room. “Do you know where we are?” he asked her then.

She was about to defy him and refuse to answer any of his questions, but then decided against it. After all, what could she do to stop him? She shook her head no.

He smiled at her, though it was a cruel, selfish smile. She didn’t like it one bit. “We’re in Hitec,” he said, watching her reaction with interest, “and you, my dear Elita, are about to find out exactly what happens to any poor mech who’s stupid enough to refuse to submit to the High Commander.” His smile melted into gleeful expectation, and he took a step back before turning and striding towards the back wall. After a few moments of careful consideration he selected a whip with a thick thong, retrieved it from its place on the shelf, and then returned to stand before her.

A new wave of panic came over her, but there was nothing she could do to save herself. Her mind raced, searching for a possible way out of the inevitable torture that she would soon endure at his hands as he held out the energy whip for her to see before he activated it. It hummed and crackled with a sharp, raw energy. “Why are you doing this?” she blurted out, pleading.

“Why am _I_ doing this?” he repeated, as though the answer should have been obvious. “Well, the Slag Maker owed me one for a small favour I did for him a couple of months ago, so I figured that he should at least let me have a little fun with you first, before it’s his turn. He said ‘yes’ and so, well – here we are.” He raised the whip, preparing to strike her with it, and shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a sucker for punishing beautiful femmes,” he added in a cheerful manner.

“Please, Sixshot… please, don’t do this,” she begged, once again struggling against her restraints to try and break free of them, but even before the words came out she knew that her pleas would fall upon deaf audial sensors.

When the first crack came down on her, making contact with the armor plating of her upper torso, the stinging, electric pain was the most excruciating she had felt in a long while, as the debilitating energy from the whip coursed through her neural circuitry. She cried out as loudly as her vocal unit would allow against the sudden shock of the punishment, and combined with a feeling of utter helplessness, but also regret, it was all too much for her to bear.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm upgrading the Rating to M just in case.

The still, heavy air inside the catacombs added to the feeling of oppression that seemed to settle upon the shoulders of the Autobot team of five as they made their way through the little used tunnels. There was no overhead lighting system in this part of sub-central Iacon, only old-fashioned halogen strips set into the bottom section of the wall and activated by motion sensors. Ratchet led the way forward with a wary optic, stepping past the full-length recesses set periodically into the concave wall. They’d managed to avoid any security teams since they’d left Wheeljack’s old workshop easily enough, but that didn’t mean that no one was searching for them.

“Do you think there are real crypts along here?” Hound asked, his voice cutting through the thick ambience as he looked about with an involuntary shudder, his helm light illuminating the way forward. Hot Rod walked closely beside him, keeping his audial receptors alert to any sound, while Arcee and Groove followed behind.

“Nah. They stopped using this place long ago, when the Mausoleum was built. If you wanna visit the ancient vaults, you gotta go several more levels down,” Ratchet explained, before coming to a stop beside another wall recess. Graphemes were engraved directly into the rock of the wall in an older Autobot script. “Markers like these are empty,” he indicated with a casual wave of his hand, then gave the smoothed surface a once over before moving off again, picking up his pace a little. “Come on, we’re almost there.” They soon reached a crossroads, where the tunnel split into two, and Ratchet stopped. The sound of sharp clanging in the distance made Hot Rod jump, and the Chief Medical Officer held up a hand. “What was that?” he asked in a hushed, rough voice, but no one had a sure answer.

“I’ve heard that these catacombs are haunted,” Hound offered, peering into the dimly lit right-hand passageway before them. It curved its way around and out of sight, resembling the insides of a giant, hollowed-out mechano-eel. When Ratchet met his gaze with a frown, he thought it best to change the subject. “Ahem, so which way now?”

A small nod towards the right-hand tunnel answered Hound’s question, but as Ratchet began to lead the rest of the way through the catacombs, Hot Rod grabbed him by his left wrist. “Wait – did you hear that?”

Ratchet hesitated before turning back to face the impetuous warrior. “No–” he said firmly, and was about to yank his arm out of the mech’s grasp when he, too, heard what sounded like a muffled cry and stopped abruptly to listen.

“I thought no one was supposed to use these tunnels–” Hot Rod began, but Ratchet was quick to silence him.

“Shhhh!” He listened intently for a bit longer, and just when he was ready to dismiss the disturbance as nothing more than the screeching of micro-bats, the sound of distant voices floated down from the level above them. There was a muffled shout, and then scraping sounds along the floor. “That may be true,” was Ratchet’s delayed response, as he waved them quickly forwards, almost breaking into a run, “but that doesn’t mean they’re not being used. Try to keep quiet – let’s go.”

The tunnel curved around and then straightened out again for a short length, before terminating inside a large ante-chamber. A hatch in the ceiling directly above the far wall was open, through which a bright shaft of light spilled down onto the floor. Ratchet ran a quick appraisal of the area, then pushed forward and leapt up the series of vertical rungs that were set into the wall just below the hatch. He didn’t stop to look back down at his companions. “Wait for me here – that’s an order,” he said to them sternly, before pulling himself up through the hatch and disappearing from view. Hot Rod ran to the bottom of the steps to peer up after him.

The group of four waited almost two minutes with mounting nervousness, and just when Hot Rod couldn’t stand it any longer the silhouette of the Autobot medic’s helm reappeared in the space above them. Gathering closer, they waited expectantly for Ratchet to speak, but he simply waved them up frantically.

Hot Rod was the first to propel himself up the steps and out through the hatch after Ratchet, followed by Arcee, Hound and then Groove. Ratchet closed the hatch and activated its sealing mechanism, then continued to lead the way forward along the brightly lit, spacious corridor without pausing. “The Decagon’s just around this corner. Stay close,” he informed them, keeping to one wall. The hallway veered off to the right and he stopped short, back flat against the wall, and then cautiously peered around the corner, holding up a hand to indicate for the others to halt.

Catching a glimpse of a number of mechs just outside the Decagon’s thick reinforced doors, Ratchet ducked his head back behind the wall to avoid being seen, a pained expression on his face. “Looks like Tailgate’s in trouble,” he said to his team mates, then braced himself briefly before stepping out into the middle of the hallway and in plain sight. The group of mechs near the doors turned to look at him, startled. “We heard some shouting. Is everything alright?” Ratchet greeted them, pretending to ignore the fact that Tailgate, the mini-bot scout, was being propped up between two Neutrals. The small Iaconian appeared to be offline. Accompanying the Neutrals were two unfamiliar Autobots. “I’m a medic - maybe I can help?”

The Neutral officers exchanged glances before their optics settled upon the senior medic, looking him up and down as if trying to decide what they should do, then shifted their gazes to the four Autobots who appeared from around the corner to quietly join the red and white medic.

One of the Neutrals slowly straightened and turned fully around to face Ratchet, but instead of answering him he activated a com line on his forearm. He spoke below normal audio range for a few seconds before pausing to wait for a response. When he was finished, he nodded to his companion and then stepped toward Ratchet, a barely visible smile touching his lips. “It’s probably not a good idea for you five to be outside of the designated safety areas, you know,” he informed them casually, trying to sound as friendly as he could. His gaze lingered on Arcee for a moment too long. “You never know if there’re Decepticons around, just waiting to take advantage of a helpless femme. Why, I’m sure they’d love to get their hands on a real beauty like you–”

Hot Rod pushed past Ratchet to confront the mostly white Neutral, his expression indignant. “Hey, don’t talk about Arcee like that! She’s not helpless–”

Ratchet placed a hand on his arm to refrain him from stirring up any unnecessary trouble. “Cool it, Hot Rod.”

But the Neutral only found the impulsive warrior’s antics amusing; if anything, the Autobot’s apparent need to speak up for Arcee only served to prove his point. “A security team’s on its way to escort you all back to the Command Center,” he said, and then began to turn back to his own group, a smirk on his face.

However, Ratchet was not finished with him – not by a long shot. “You didn’t answer my question. Let me take a look at Tailgate, or we’re not going anywhere.”

The Neutral paused for a moment, before spinning on his heel to face the Autobot medic again – and this time his expression was one of irate impatience. “I don’t think you quite understand the situation here, Autobot. Do the right thing, and we can all be friends. Don’t do the right thing – and unfortunately I’ll have to report your bad behaviour to Sentinel Prime. Believe me, you don’t want me to do that.”

Ratchet stepped forward until he was face to face with the Neutral, completely unafraid of him or his patronizing attitude; he did not seem intimidated by his threat in any way. “What’s your name and rank, officer?”

“Excuse me?” the Neutral reacted, incredulous.

“I asked you a simple question – what’s your name and rank?” Ratchet repeated for him, his gravelly voice strong and persuasive.

A shaking of his head. “You can’t ask me that–”

“Oh, can’t I? Do you know who I am, officer?” A look of astonished confusion overtook the Neutral, but Ratchet pressed on. “No? Then let me tell you. I’m the Autobot’s _Chief Medical Officer_ and, hence, _your_ superior. Unless, of course, we don’t have an Alliance anymore?”

The Neutral opened his mouth to respond, but no sound came out, and suddenly he was locked in some sort of internal struggle that had hijacked his central processor. After a few moments he took a step back, and it looked as though he’d temporarily won the fight against his alter persona, though his yellow optics continued to glow brightly with the inner conflict.

“Now, I’ll ask you again – what’s your name and rank, officer?” Ratchet demanded relentlessly.

“I don’t–” the Neutral started, but then cycled a deep intake of air as if willing himself to remain in control. Before Ratchet’s very optics his persona seemed to shift, ever so slightly, back to his former self, and a smug smile reappeared slowly upon his face. “You know, it’s funny you should ask, but we don’t have names,” he replied slowly, his tone mocking yet also perfectly serious.

Behind Ratchet, Groove caught the mech’s gaze in shocked silence, and Arcee immediately sensed his tension, his slightly shuddering frame, though she could only guess as to what was going through his mind. A raw, unrepressed memory of his attack, triggered by the two Neutrals standing before them.

_‘We don’t have names.’_

Instinctively she reached out to grab his arm, but Groove had already stepped forward, moving closer toward the Neutral. “Groove–” she pleaded, trying to reassure the Protectobot, though his mind had already shut out all other external stimuli.

“Why?” Groove managed, his voice a mere whisper, and the Neutral snapped his head in his direction, assessing him as if he were a threat. “Why did you do it? How many others… how many other Autobots have suffered because of you?” Ratchet reached out to pull him back, but Groove shrugged the hand away. “No! I want to know. _Why_?”

The Neutral scowled. “What are you talking about, you crazy glitch?”

A moment of tense silence followed, and to Arcee’s immediate relief the Neutral’s response seemed to snap Groove out of his paranoia. The Protectobot retreated a few steps as he withdrew back into himself again, backing right down, and as he did so Ratchet took the opportunity to force his way past the Neutral to get a good look at Tailgate, who was now being held upright between the second Neutral and one of his Autobot companions. As the medic knelt down to examine the mini-bot, no one dared stop him.

Several long moments passed, and when he’d completed his cursory medical evaluation of Tailgate, he hung his head in quiet mourning.

“Sir?” Hot Rod called out in alarm, but when the senior medic made no attempts to respond, he repeated his anxious plea more forcefully. “Ratchet? Unless you want us all to be escorted back to Sentinel Prime, maybe we should think about getting out of here before–”

Ignoring Hot Rod, Ratchet abruptly stood up and spun around to face the first Neutral, who had been watching him intently. “You killed him,” he accused in a deceptively soft voice, before he burst out in unrestrained anger, “Why’d you kill him, you sick son-of-a-glitch?! What’d he ever do to you?” A look of disgust crossed his face, and he shook his head, looking away as if he didn’t care an iota for the consequences of his actions. Even when he turned back to meet the Neutral’s gaze once more, the blaster that the other now wielded didn’t seem to register at all. “You planning on killing us, too? Is that your new plan – to kill us all, one by one, until the Autobots are no more?” he asked in unbridled regret, making no effort whatsoever to protect himself from the weapon being pointed at him.

The Neutral seemed to take the medic’s reaction in his stride, though his mask of calm was only a thin veneer that concealed a convoluted and twisted mind. He inched his weapon a little higher, his finger resting comfortably on the trigger. “I didn’t kill this Autobot. We found him this way out near the Western boundary. Like I told you, it’s not safe to be out alone anymore–”

Ratchet had never been a great warrior, or strategic fighter – he was a medic, first and foremost. His job had always been to save lives; he was not used to making decisions that might condemn the lives of others, whether friend or foe. And whilst he was the highest ranking officer among those present, it could be argued that Ratchet was not the best mech to shoot first and ask questions later, even when his own life was at risk.

Hot Rod, on the other hand, although impulsive and sometimes reckless, knew to react appropriately when the situation called for immediate action. To a warrior such as Hot Rod, there was no mistake: disarm the threat before it could put his friend’s life at risk; and right now the Neutral was the threat, Ratchet his friend.

He did not wait to find out for sure what the Neutral’s intentions were, as several short bursts from his dual photon blasters hit the hostile mech from behind, successfully putting him out of action before he could even think to pull the trigger on Ratchet. But even before Sentinel’s minion fell in a heap at Ratchet’s feet, Hot Rod aimed both his laser guns at the three remaining members of the other party – the second Neutral and the two Autobots – arms straight out in front of him in a battle-ready pose. Beside him, Hound responded quickly, shooting the remaining Neutral down first before he could attack, while Groove’s photon pistol was aimed at the unfamiliar Autobots, though he was reluctant to use it.

Ratchet forced himself to take stock of their situation. Quickly glancing behind him at the Decagon’s reinforced doors before looking down at the blue mini-bot’s sparkless chassis, he realized that it was too late to save him – much too late – and he had to force his attention away from the unfortunate Autobot in order to ensure that his companions would not succumb to a similar fate. In the same instant, he knew that attempting to enter the Decagon would prove to be a pointless move, and in fact would only put them in further peril. Judging by the team of Autobot-Neutral Alliance officers they’d just encountered outside of the fortified Autobase – a team which he was almost certain answered to Sentinel Prime – command of the Decagon had already changed hands. And of course, allowing his team to be escorted back to the Iacon Command Center would do nothing but ensure they’d be punished as rebels of the Alliance.

He retreated a few steps away from the Decagon, before breaking into a jog as he turned the corner and headed back down along the same hallway from whence they’d come. “Come on,” he prompted his small team, “we need to go.”

As Hound, Groove and Arcee began to retrace their footsteps back around the corner after Ratchet, one after the other, Hot Rod remained where he was, pointing his blasters at the two Alliance Autobots to ensure they wouldn’t try to stop them or fight back, until he was the last one of his team mates left standing in the hallway.

“Hot Rod, come on!” he heard Arcee’s beckoning voice calling him, and he withdrew, taking several steps backward until he, too, had disappeared from view around the corner. Then he turned and ran, catching up with the rest of his companions as they hastily made their way back toward the catacombs.

* * *

Since Optimus Prime had been escorted back to join his fellow Autobots inside the holding bay of the Iacon Command Center, he had refused to speak much and had withdrawn into himself, even after several breems. Ironhide had tried to question him about the private meeting he’d had with the Neutral leader more than once, yet Prime’s reluctance to offer his friend any pertinent information only infuriated the ammunitions specialist until he’d shaken his head in exasperation.

“I don’t get it, Prime – is he planning on keeping us all in here until we off-line from lack of energon?” Ironhide’s gruff voice cut through the noticeable tension inside the holding bay.

“I doubt it, Ironhide.”

That was all Prime was willing to offer, even as he ignored the pained expression directed at him. “Well – what’s he planning on doing with us, then?” No response. “He must have said _something_ to you–”

“He did not tell me his plans.”

Ironhide clenched a fist and grimaced. It was true that he loved and respected the Autobot leader more than he could express in words, yet when he acted this way he hated it. He briefly considered speaking his mind, not holding back what was in his heart to say, but then he was reminded of the recent episode with Streetwise and thought better of it; while it appeared that Optimus had since managed to keep his emotions in check, there was no guarantee that he wouldn’t react again in anger, and he did not wish for a repeat of that episode – not for fear of being the one at the receiving end, but for the sake of Prime’s mental and emotional well-being. He lowered his arms back down to his sides and unclenched his fist, then turned away. The three Neutral guards by the door caught his gaze and smirked in satisfaction, though he did his best to ignore them. There was something bothering Prime, something that he was not willing to share – this much he knew. An entire Cybertronian lifetime of knowing the Autobot Commander had taught him to read the subtle hints in his mannerisms and pick up the tell-tale signs – signs such as the almost conspicuous emotions of guilt and regret that now emanated from his energy field. When he turned slowly back around to speak once more, his vocalizer had softened with empathy. “Prime?”

Optimus did not respond for a long moment, still did not meet his gaze, yet it was all he could do to stop himself from blaming his friends for the way he felt. Perhaps… perhaps it had been for the best that Sentinel had forced him to step aside, if only for the fact that he was no longer fit to be the Prime Commander of the Autobot forces - not whilst his capacity to think and act appropriately had been compromised. Not since…

“It’s Elita,” he murmured.

“What?” Ironhide looked at him in consternation, not exactly sure what was going on inside the former Commander’s cranial circuits. “Elita?” he repeated in delayed response.

For the first time since he’d been returned to the holding bay, Optimus lifted his head to gaze into his friend’s blue optics. “She’s been captured,” he confessed in a low voice. The entire room fell quiet all around him, the impatient whispers and disgruntled protestations that had been allowed to escape every now and again from the mouths of several of the Autobot hostages suddenly ceasing. Prowl took several steps closer toward the two of them, his protective programming reacting as if it were instinctive.

“What?!” This time Ironhide couldn’t conceal his utter shock and disbelief at the bombshell that had just been dropped from Prime’s own lips. “Captured? _How_ – by whom? Slag it, Prime!” He wasn’t being helpful, he knew, but the words seemed to pour forth of their own accord.

Prime only shook his head, surprising even himself with the degree of outward calmness that he displayed. “I don’t know, Ironhide. All I know is that she’s on Alternity City, and she’s in grave danger… and it’s all my fault.”

The red Autobot brought a hand up to his forehead as he turned away in frustration, while First Aid crossed the room to stand beside Optimus, regarding him with empathetic optics, and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. Yet neither he, nor any of the other Autobots present dared speak for several long moments – for, truly, what could any of them have offered that might have assured him even an iota of comfort? When the moment inevitably passed, Ironhide was left with a bitter taste in his mouth, as if his energon converter had regurgitated a mouthful of low-grade fuel. Elita’s capture, not to mention the unknown circumstances of her current predicament, brought up more questions in his main processor than he dared ask, yet he was compelled as he turned back towards the Prime. “What about Chromia? Is she safe?”

Optimus had been so caught up in his troubles concerning Elita that he had momentarily forgotten the fact that Elita had not left for Alternity City on her own, and now, with a growing sense of foreboding that swept into his waking awareness, coupled with guilt, the least he could do was return Ironhide’s gaze with unfaltering optics. If something had happened to Chromia, or any of the other femmes of Elita’s crew, the responsibility would rest squarely on his shoulders. “I don’t know where Chromia and the rest of her crew are, or whether they’re safe. I’m sorry, old friend.”

“But they were with Elita when she left, weren’t they?” Ironhide questioned, ignoring Optimus’ apology. If Chromia was in trouble, he did not have time to worry about apologies or even who was to blame – he only sought reassurance that the femmes, and in particular Chromia, whom he cared for more than he had ever let on, would be returned safe and in one piece. Why he’d waited so long to let her know how he felt he couldn’t say, but now that she could be in real danger he was so overcome with worry and agitation that he had to turn away from the scrutiny of all the curious optics in the room.

“Yes, I believe they were,” Prime replied, but then said nothing further.

“Ah, dammit, Optimus!” Ironhide released his frustrations in a burst of anger, though it was fleeting, and the room soon fell quiet once more. He took a few moments to think, before facing Optimus again. “We’ve got to get out of here. We’ve got to find a way to get to Alternity City and rescue them–”

However, despite Ironhide’s concerns and burning need to take some sort of action, Optimus did not seem to hear his friend. Even as he began to ponder his own plan of rescue, the door to the holding bay opened and they were greeted by the familiar team of Neutrals. After a moment of quietly surveying the prisoners, the head guard pointed with a finger to the group of Aerialbots, while the rest of the Neutral team stood waiting outside in the hallway. “You five, come with us,” he ordered with an authoritative nod as he gestured with his thumb to indicate to them to follow him out.

The leader of the Autobot combiner team grunted, half contemplating breaking past the Neutrals and making a run for it, perhaps forming Superion or smashing through the hatch in the ceiling with his team mates in their jet modes, but then he quickly dismissed the idea – if nothing else, even if they weren’t later caught and consequently turned into slag, Sentinel might very well take their rebelliousness out on the rest of the Autobots still detained inside the Command Center.

Optimus intently watched Silverbolt and the other Aerialbots as they left the holding bay with the Neutrals, offering no words of advice or reassurance but with only the thought of rescuing Elita on his mind.

* * *

Despite their constant squabbling and disagreements, Silverbolt often wondered how, even after having stared danger in the face a countless number of times, he and his aerial warriors were still standing here today, alive and functional, after all these vorns. They had survived through the Last Great War, which had been brought about by the Great Devastation and had ended with the Dark Plague, and he liked to think that it had something to do with their uniqueness, both as a team and also individually; no flyer worth his turbines had ever denied or even challenged their reputation as the number one Autobot aerial team, and for good reason. Because despite their less than admirable traits away from the midst of battle, they were good at what they did – no, not just good – they were the _best_ , and everyone knew it.

Still, the Aerialbot leader couldn’t say for sure whether the pride and trust he placed in his team – they’d proven their worth time and time again, could even hold their own against the Decepticons’ seekers – was enough to guarantee that Sentinel Prime would spare them from a perpetual state of internment, locked away in stasis inside the Detention Banks. Personally, he believed that they were far too valuable to end up in such a place. Nevertheless, it was this deep seated confidence in the value of his own team that kept his fear in check when he eventually came face to face with the Neutral Prime. If anything, he thought, his team’s enviable status might even prove to be advantageous during this precarious time; the Aerialbots were one of only a few gestalt teams able to combine into a larger form, and he decided that Sentinel was, if nothing else, smart enough to recognize their worth, even if the mech’s intentions were dubious. Sure enough, any lingering fears and doubts he may still have been holding onto would soon be cast away.

“Ah, Silverbolt, welcome.” The red and black Neutral leader looked up at him with a data pad in hand, as he and his team mates were guided through the open door and into the control room by the Neutrals. “Leave us,” he said to the head guard, who nodded curtly in response before disappearing from view along with his subordinates, not bothering to close the door. Sentinel resumed speaking to the Aerialbot leader, barely acknowledging his wing mates with a glance. “You may find it difficult to comprehend everything that is happening at the moment, but I do believe that you will soon come to realize the truth of the situation.”

“The Autobots haven’t done anything wrong – why are you treating us like slag? We’re not your enemy!” Slingshot fired off, stepping in front of Silverbolt before the latter had a chance to even think through his response.

Silverbolt extended an arm out, stopping the smaller flier in his tracks. “Keep quiet; I’ll do the talking here, alright?” he warned, glancing briefly around at the rest of his team mates. Like his impetuous companion there were a lot of things he wanted to say to Sentinel right now, though he managed to keep a cooler head. “As far as I understand the situation, Sentinel Prime, you betrayed us all, but especially Optimus. I thought you at least cared about _him_ – he trusted you.”

Sentinel released a soft sigh, carefully putting down his data pad and shaking his head regretfully. “If that is your understanding, then you are sadly mistaken.” He began to pace slowly across the room to the far wall, keeping his back to Silverbolt as he spoke. “I have known Optimus for much, much longer than any of you, and believe me… the last thing I want is to see him get hurt. Unfortunately, the endless war – but especially the Great Devastation – has taken its toll on him. He is no longer the fearless and capable leader he once was. His judgment has become clouded, filled with doubt. He can no longer clearly discern what needs to be done.” Sentinel paused, studying one of the monitor displays as he allowed ample time for his words to sink in. “The truth is that the recent news of Elita One’s capture has compromised his ability to think and act in a rational manner and while it is understandable, we cannot allow ourselves to become distracted. We are simply running out of time,” he added, before turning to face Silverbolt.

The Aerialbot’s gaze fixed upon the Prime’s intense blue optics as though they had him trapped, consuming his very spark while he was powerless to resist. His mind raced, thoughts coalescing in a cloud of uncertainty and confusion before dispersing into thin, feeble threads. Was there any truth at all to what Sentinel was telling him? Whilst he was a loyal Autobot and had served under Optimus since before the wars, even he could see that his leader had changed – slowly but surely, but especially so since Elita had departed Cybertron on her own initiative – if he was truly honest with himself; at least on that front, he had to agree with Sentinel. And while he was loath to entertain the possibility that the Neutral leader may have had the lawful right to assert his authority and usurp Optimus’ leadership, could he really afford not to? “Why did you bring us here?” he finally replied, unwilling to consider the harsh implications of Sentinel’s words, at least for now.

“As you might have heard, we have resumed our efforts to hunt down and capture every last remaining Decepticon. I’d like to begin with their interrogations as soon as possible – the sooner we are able to learn the reasons for their recent attacks, the better – and hopefully put a stop to them once and for all. But this would be much easier to accomplish with your team’s help, of course. Put simply, we could do with your aerial capabilities, not to mention your ability to merge,” Sentinel explained, his voice confident and reassuring.

“Don’t listen to him, Silverbolt – he’s trying to trick us like he did the others,” Air Raid advised. The red and white jet with dark grey wings stood behind his team leader as he watched Sentinel warily.

Silverbolt hesitated, but then decided that whether or not the former Autobot Prime could be trusted, he would not allow him to take advantage of his team. Regardless, he was curious to hear what the mech had to say. “And why should we help you?” he asked, though he already knew what the answer to his question would be even before he had uttered it.

Sentinel smiled. “I wouldn’t dream of asking any of you to do anything that might go against your core principles – however, do not forget that the Decepticons are our mutual enemy; it will be for all our benefit if they are stopped. Do not be fooled by anyone telling you otherwise.”

Silverbolt tore his gaze away from the Neutral Prime to look down at the floor, cycling air in strained silence. He had heard the rumors about the Neutrals’ plans for a takeover, yet after Sentinel had asserted control several hours ago, in his mind there had been no concrete evidence that he had done so for any reason other than for the good of the Alliance. Besides, if he accepted Sentinel’s offer it would grant him and his team the chance to even the score against Devastator – it was an opportunity that he found difficult to pass up. After several moments in contemplation, he looked up again and nodded. “Alright, we’ll help you capture some Decepticons. But you _must_ promise me that you’ll do nothing to harm Optimus and the other Autobots,” he said, ignoring the subdued gasps of astonishment coming from his team mates behind him.

The smile on Sentinel’s face faded somewhat, but did not disappear entirely. He seemed to regard Silverbolt’s reply with as much seriousness as he was able to convey, until his smile broadened once more. “Very well. No harm shall come to any of them. You have my word,” he promised.

* * *

A rush of cool wind swirled all around Elita One, and she was suddenly conscious again, though her awareness was heightened. Innately, she knew that she was no longer trapped inside the Hitec base but had been transported to a place very, very far from there, a place beyond the stars. A warm, soothing light continued to grow stronger until she was surrounded by it, immersed in it. She had never experienced anything like it before, and instinctively she knew that she was safe here. Was she dead? And what of her crew – were they here, too? These thoughts formed in her mind, though they were without hint of fear or regret – only curiosity, and acceptance.

And then, as if in answer to her thoughts, a presence came into existence behind her, and she spun around to greet it. Even before she could make out the entity’s physical form, which was completely surrounded by a bright light, she knew - no, sensed - who it was without needing to be told, and the sound of jovial laughter filled the space all around her. “Alpha Trion? Is that really you?” she spoke into the dazzling energy, and no sooner had she uttered the name than the radiant shape of an ancient-looking Cybertronian emerged from the light to stand before her. There was no doubt in her mind that she was in the presence of her guardian elder, who had died long ago.

“Ah, my dear Elita, it is so good to see you after all this time,” he replied, smiling. He looked and sounded just like she remembered him - mauve, white and burgundy color scheme, sporting a cape and pointy helm - right down to the long, white strips of facial attachments that resembled hair and the Autobot insignia on his chest. “Do not fear – you are not dead, but you will be in grave danger if you do not heed my advice,” he added, though his tone was reassuring rather than threatening, and she felt instantly at ease.

“Where am I?” she asked, still mesmerized by his welcome presence, and took a few moments as her mind’s understanding caught up with her higher awareness. When she looked down upon her body, she recognized the familiar form of her own slender, mechanical frame, in shades of pink and white. “If I’m not dead, then… then I must be…” She trailed off as the answer instantly entered into her conscious awareness, though it was Alpha Trion who finished her sentence for her.

“Yes, you are inside the Matrix,” he answered. “But do not worry – your friends are all safe and well.” She stared back at him in bewilderment before releasing a long sigh of relief, and he continued. “However, I am afraid that the same cannot be said for your bonded.”

“My… my bonded?” she started, and once again the meaning of his intention seemed to be instantly conveyed to her without the need for words. “You mean Optimus?” she asked, her voice now filled with concern. “Has something happened to him? Is he in danger?”

Her elder guardian’s face glowed with an ethereal confidence that she found comforting, no matter his message. “He is concerned for you. He will make the journey to Alternity City on his own, and will attempt to rescue you.”

“Wh–what?” She placed a hand over her mouth, looking away in shock. Optimus was going to leave his duties as Autobot leader behind just to come and save her? Her life alone was not worth it if it meant that thousands of other lives would be put at risk. “But… who’s going to lead the Autobots on Cybertron? No, please… you must stop him,” she pleaded.

Alpha Trion offered her a sympathetic nod, and then slowly shook his head in regret. “I do not have that kind of power, I’m afraid.” He paused, looking back up at her with compassion in his optics. “What I _can_ do, however, is offer you guidance so that you may be prepared for what is to come.”

She found herself almost unable to ask the imperative question, fearing for the safety of her loved ones and for the future of her home planet, but her compassion and willpower seemed to give her the strength she needed to conquer her fear. “What is to come, Alpha Trion?”

The elder did not attempt to spare her feelings, nor did he hesitate in his response. “The war that will end all wars, Elita. If it cannot be stopped, the consequences shall far outlive the total destruction of your home planet. It will ultimately result in the end of our species, as you know it at present.”

Though she was a seasoned and capable femme commander, Elita could not stop the well of despair and sadness that began to flood her spark with the thought of the total destruction of Cybertron, and of all Cybertronians. “As I know it at present? What do you mean?” She forced her vocalizer to whisper the words, even though she knew that Alpha Trion could read her thoughts.

This time, he turned his face away slightly as he considered his reply. “There is a fate worse than death, Elita. Even for an entire species. I cannot share with you what such a future might look like, because I refuse to do so. It is something that you would be better off not knowing, for I have seen it.” He faced her again, deep love and empathy now evident upon his features. “But it is the reason that I have summoned you here.”

She covered her face with her hands, feeling the sudden urge to cry out as the overwhelming sense of urgency that she was picking up from Alpha Trion threatened to take her beyond the edge of sanity. He waited for her to recover with an infinite patience that was supernatural, until she managed to find her voice once again. “But what can I do? I’ve been captured. My crew doesn’t know where I am, and I have no idea what’s going to happen to me. Please, tell me what I can do?” she begged, pleading with him now.

A small smile appeared on Alpha Trion’s face. “Ah, do not fear, Elita One. You will soon cross paths with one who will be able to help you escape – but only if you are willing to reach out to him.”

She looked back at him in surprise. “Please, tell me who this mech is so that I may ask for his help?”

“I am sorry, but I’m afraid that I cannot reveal to you his identity. However, what I _can_ tell you is that he will also need _your_ help, yet he will not be forthcoming – at least, not at first.” Alpha Trion’s smile lingered as he continued to watch her with immeasurable reassurance and compassion.

She exhaled in exasperation, his words of advice only causing her more confusion, but then resigned herself to acceptance. It was more than what she would have learned otherwise. And at least now she knew that there was a chance that she might escape Hitec. “What about Optimus? Is the Alliance behind this coming war? What can we do?” she asked, so many questions that needed answers fighting for supremacy all at once.

“Ah. Do not overly concern yourself with Optimus – he needed to learn many things, though because of his stubborn nature it has not always been easy for him to accept the truth, yet he will come around in the end. The Alliance was simply a means to an end. Trust yourself, Elita – and you will find that you already have all the answers that you seek.” He paused, gazing upon her with much understanding, his countenance imparting infinite knowledge and wisdom. “As for the war… it has already begun. Many do not realize it yet, but they will soon enough. But you… you have yet to play your part in putting a stop to what has already been set in motion. You have great power, Elita, but you must be ready when the time comes.”

Then the light surrounding Alpha Trion began to recede, and for a moment Elita panicked. She did not want this to end – she did not want to return to Hitec only to find herself having to deal with more of the harsh punishments that she had already been made to endure. “Wait – please, don’t go,” she implored, even though she knew it was pointless.

Ignoring her plea, Alpha Trion offered her one final piece of advice before he disappeared altogether and she found herself regaining consciousness back in the real world, her head aching and her body battered and drained of energy. “Just remember, Elita, that the only way toward lasting peace is to make amends with those whom you once considered your enemy. Your future, and the future of our race, depends on it.”

* * *

The short journey back to the Autobot femmes’ readapted building in Koltar was largely uneventful. Chromia, Firestar and Moonracer led the way in their alt modes, followed closely by Sunstreaker, while Dirge and his team of seekers trailed them in the air. Astrotrain had assured Astro that he was perfectly capable of giving him and the three who accompanied him – Rook, Thunderblast and, of course, Comet – a ride back to the femme’s base in his shuttle mode, despite the obvious damage he’d sustained during the high-speed chase to get away from Jhiaxus’ enforcers.

“Don’t you dare worry about me, Astro. A little recharge and I’ll be as good as new. Now get in,” the purple and grey triple changer insisted as he’d transformed into shuttle mode and opened his side hatch. There were obvious blast marks across his chassis, and one of his thrusters was off-line, but otherwise he was more than capable of getting them at least as far as Koltar.

Upon arrival, Firestar input the security code for the basic alarm system she had set up and then let herself in. Everything was exactly as they’d left it, and she sighed inwardly in relief. After Chromia and Moonracer followed her inside, she motioned for Sunstreaker to enter. “Please, make yourself at home. There’s a dispenser over by that corner if you need a fill–” she started, but Moonracer had already grabbed him excitedly by the arm and was dragging him inside.

“Come on, I’ll show you!” the green femme cheerfully encouraged, and he simply smiled at her, allowing her to take the lead.

“‘Racer – ‘Racer, please be gentle with him…” Firestar began, but then crossed her arms and shook her head as she watched the two of them get reacquainted. It had been a long time since any of them had seen Sunstreaker or even received any news of him – a very long time indeed, and she supposed that there was no harm in Moonracer’s over-zealous welcome. What really worried her were the Decepticons, who would be arriving here any astro-second now. How much could she trust them, particularly when she knew very little about their motives, but especially the one called Astro? She knew absolutely nothing about him. Dirge and his buddies she never liked, and as for Thunderblast – well, her reputation pretty much spoke for itself.

“I’ll go and prepare the recharging station if you’ll get the medical equipment ready – they’ll probably want to make use of it immediately,” Chromia said, pausing briefly to speak to her on her way past.

Firestar grabbed her gently by the wrist and pulled her close. “Are you sure we’re doing the right thing, Chrome?”

Chromia looked into her friend’s concerned optics and hesitated, before offering her a reassuring smile. She patted Firestar’s forearm with her free hand, and then continued on without giving her a verbal answer.

When the Decepticon seekers descended into the small alley a few seconds later, transforming back into their robot modes, they stood waiting outside the building for Astrotrain and his passengers to arrive. Dirge had transported Jhiaxus’ unconscious frame in his jet mode and then ejected him when he’d transformed, leaving Hitec’s non-functioning second in command slumped across the alley. He looked up at the sky, watching as Astrotrain came into view, and moments later the triple changer landed gently beside him, opening his side hatch and allowing his passengers to disembark before he, too, transformed back into robot mode.

Astro was the first of them to step through the open entranceway into the building, carrying Comet in his arms, pausing briefly to look around. Chromia ushered him over to their makeshift recharge berth near the rear wall of the building, waving for him to come inside.

“You can put him down over here,” she said, then took a medical case from Firestar and opened it up for him.

Striding purposefully across the room, Astro carefully laid the unconscious seeker onto the berth and then glanced at the assortment of medical tools that Chromia had laid out on a table beside the berth. He quickly rummaged through the tools, selected a standard plasma welder, opened up the seeker’s cockpit canopy, and inserted a probe from the tip of one finger directly into a diagnostics port to begin a data transfer.

“Isn’t that a little dangerous?” a femme’s voice asked from behind him, and he glanced back, startled, to see the red and orange femme watching him intently. After a moment, he resumed his task, working fast. “Initiating a direct link-up like that, I mean,” she clarified.

“Decepticons are designed a little differently,” Astro answered, though he did not bother to elaborate. Instead, he retracted the probe and proceeded to work on mending the seeker’s fuel line ruptures with the plasma welder.

“If there’s anything else you need, I can ask Moonracer?” Chromia said after several moments.

After a slight delay, Astro responded without looking away from his work. “I have everything I need.”

“Astro?” Rook said, walking up to stand beside the larger mech. When he got no reply, he tried again but with more determination. “Astro?”

Finally, Astro paused, putting down the plasma welder and straightening. “What is it, Rook?”

The green and white mech ignored the femmes’ curious glances as he shifted his gaze from Comet and then back to Astro again. “What do you want us to do with that – that mech?” he said with a nod back toward the entranceway where Dirge and Acid Storm had dragged Jhiaxus’ frame inside. “I still don’t see why we can’t just extract whatever information we need from his memory module and dump his frame into the canal?”

Astro turned to face him fully, then glanced over at the blue and grey jet, who was leaning against a wall just inside the entrance, watching as Thunderblast paced back and forth nervously – she stopped briefly to glance back at Astro and Comet before resuming her pacing, trying to avoid the figure of the mech with whom she’d recently experienced a frightening encounter. Meanwhile, Moonracer was busy showing Sunstreaker the collection of spare parts and equipment they’d managed to salvage from the wreckage of their ship. “Just find somewhere to put him. I’ll get to him next,” Astro replied, then turned back to resume repairs on the seeker, and Rook let out a soft sigh before resignedly moving away.

* * *

The glare from the overhead lights was the first thing to jolt Elita back to her physical senses, and she realized with relief that she was no longer suspended by her wrists in the middle of the torture chamber. The second thing that she became aware of was the voice of a mech close by, speaking to her. With regret, she remembered her tormentor, Sixshot, and let out a small groan.

“Welcome back to the land of the living, my dear. Here, take this – I know you need it, you’re almost completely drained,” he said.

She felt a cool, cylindrical object being tapped against her arm, and carefully lifted her head to look around her. She was slumped across one of the lounge chairs, and in the chair beside her sat Sixshot with a can of energon in one hand as he held out a second, unopened one for her to take. She strained to sit upright and carefully reached out to take the proffered fuel, but before she could grasp it he drew it back.

“Allow me,” he said, watching her with lewd interest as he quickly broke open the can’s seal before offering it back to her.

She took the container of pink fluid and brought it up to her lips, then drank the entirety of its contents hungrily. She tried to ignore his stare as best she could, even as the memory of her recent journey into the Matrix suddenly flooded back into her processor. When she was finished, he took the empty can from her, then sat back and smiled at her, admiring her frame. She followed his gaze down, and noticed the tell-tale signs of the punishment she’d received at his hand; burned imprints of several long, thin lashes that ran across her entire frame. It was no wonder that she had off-lined; the pain from the energy whip had been unbearable. Thankfully, the dreaded tool was no longer in his possession, and a quick glance towards the back wall told her that it had been returned to its place on the shelf.

“Thank you,” she said softly, doing her best to keep the disdain out of her voice. She held a hand to her forehead and felt her strength slowly returning as the energon was quickly assimilated by her fuel converter.

“No need to thank me, sweetheart. The Slag Maker wants you functioning and looking pretty, for what he has in mind for you,” he replied, giving her a sly grin in admiration of her physical form. “He’s one lucky glitch.”

She lifted her head up to meet his gaze, and saw a cruel and callous spark peering back at her from behind red optics. She knew that he had once aligned himself with the Decepticons, but she could not see the faction’s purple insignia displayed anywhere on his frame. She dreaded to think that he was the mech who was supposed to help her escape, but then quickly dismissed the thought as ludicrous – she was pretty certain that helping her escape was the last thing on Sixshot’s mind. “The Slag Maker?” she enquired, hoping to shift his attention off her.

He gave her a surprised look, as though it were unusual that she had not heard of him. “I’m pretty sure he’s already paid you a personal visit,” he responded, then sat thoughtfully for a moment. “Tell me something, darling. What’s it feel like to know that you’ll never see your pathetic Autobot leader again, or those pretty femmes who followed you all the way out here?”

She drew back in spite of herself, swallowing hard. The slagger; he had no right, she thought, but refrained from speaking lest he took satisfaction from it, yet he seemed to enjoy the look of revulsion on her face all the same.

He laughed, then shook his head at some private thought that had just crossed his mind. “Well, it’s sure been fun but sadly I can’t stay and chat,” he said, sighing and getting up from his chair. “But you just sit tight, and he’ll be with you real soon.” She quietly tracked his movements as he strode across the room to the door, watching as it slid open before him. He stopped to turn back, giving her some parting words. “Oh, and… if you want some advice, I’d do exactly as he says. There’s a reason why he’s called Slag Maker, you know, and I can promise you it’s not just to do with smelting.” He grinned arrogantly, and then disappeared into the darkened hallway beyond, the door automatically sealing closed after him.

She waited several seconds to make sure he was gone, before her survival instincts kicked in and her processor began to race through several possible escape routes. They had left her alone inside a locked room – it wasn’t much, granted, but it was a small blessing nevertheless – and one which she intended to make the most of.

* * *

Sunstreaker had had no idea how much Moonracer could talk – she had proceeded to tell him all about the femmes’ adventures ever since they’d crashed on Alternity City – though ironically he found it somewhat soothing; having spent more than a vorn on this crazy planet with no one else to look out for him but himself, he actually welcomed her friendly company, even when he struggled to get a word in edgewise.

“So, um – I was hoping we might be able to send word to Optimus with this transmitter, you know? Warn him about the Neutrals and – oh, let them know you’re alive, of course!” The green femme paused, glancing up at him, and he nodded, smiling.

“‘Racer? Moonracer! Help us clear this stuff off this bench, would you please?” Chromia called to her, distracting her from her conversation.

Moonracer was startled for a brief moment, but then turned her attention back to the yellow Autobot. “Oh, if you’ll excuse me for just a moment, I’ve been called away on important business,” she said jokingly, pointing a thumb back at the blue femme as she feigned tediousness, before moving away to join Chromia and Firestar.

Sunstreaker watched as the three femmes began to clear a work bench of various tools and equipment, and then glanced behind him across the room at Comet, who lay quietly on the makeshift berth, Astro bent over him. He turned and began to walk toward them until he came to a stop beside Astro, observing the mech as he made a few final adjustments to Comet’s internal systems. There was still so much he wanted to learn about the seeker, yet he found himself reluctant to ask – perhaps because he felt that he had no business asking probing questions about a Decepticon, of all mechs, who really had nothing to do with him. Nevertheless, he couldn’t help but care about the seeker’s well-being, especially after the time they’d spent getting to know one another. “You know, Comet saved my life,” he confessed, breaking Astro’s concentration for a brief moment. “And I guess I owe you all a big thanks, as well,” he added. “I would have been slagged by Jhiaxus for sure.” He paused, watching as Astro gently closed Comet’s cockpit canopy. The glow from the seeker’s optics was already brighter, though he was still unconscious. “So, are you - uh, bringing him back online now?”

Astro turned his attention away from Comet to acknowledge Sunstreaker. “He’s in recharge. He should be awake after a full cycle,” he said, then glanced across the room at the Autobot femmes. They had finished clearing a space on top of a bench and were now assisting Rook and Dirge as the two of them lifted Jhiaxus’ burned out frame up onto the table. Neither Rook nor Dirge seemed happy about the prospect of reviving him. Astro bowed his head and let out a small sigh. “When Comet wakes up, he might not understand everything that’s happening,” he confessed, before raising his head to look at Sunstreaker once more. “But if he trusts you… then, I might need your help.”

Sunstreaker glanced down at Comet, hesitating. He really didn’t know anything about the seeker, certainly could not claim to have gotten to know him well enough to say that Comet trusted him at all, yet despite his fears and self doubts he wanted to help in any way he was able. He thought he owed Comet at least that much. “Sure. Whatever he needs,” he finally responded.

An almost imperceptible weight seemed to lift from Astro’s shoulders, and the blue mech gave him a small nod and an inconspicuous smile in gratitude, before moving away to deal with Jhiaxus.

* * *

Jazz paused just outside the entrance to the Decepticons’ main control room and watched as Rumble approached Soundwave, who was seated at one of the consoles. The smaller mech tapped his guardian on the shoulder and waited for him to vacate his post so that he could take over, without needing to say a word. Then, as though he’d been able to detect Jazz’s presence by sensing his very thoughts, Soundwave turned to acknowledge him. The only other mech present in the room was Megatron, who was standing nearby looking up at the main monitor.

“Jazz: Megatron would like to speak with you,” Soundwave informed him.

“Ah, sure thing,” Jazz replied, stepping into the middle of the room. “He’s just the mech I wanted to see, as a matter of fact.”

Satisfied, Soundwave walked past him and exited the room, leaving him alone with the Decepticon leader. Rumble seemed to be fully absorbed in his task and did not acknowledge either of them.

“I assume you are aware that Autobot Command has reissued their directive against us?” Megatron began, turned away from Jazz.

“Uh, yeah… I picked up the broadcast a short time ago.” Silence fell momentarily between them, and Jazz wondered whether he ought to offer the other mech an explanation. “I’d say Sentinel Prime probably had something to do with it.”

“Hm.” Megatron appeared to be in deep contemplation, taking his time to respond. After a long moment he turned slowly around, though he did not catch the Autobot’s gaze. “Perhaps it would be best for you to return to Iacon,” he finally said, though it was not done so in a threatening manner – if anything, he sounded concerned. When Jazz gave no reply, he elaborated, “For your own safety.” Another pause, and then, “We cannot stay here.”

Jazz looked away for a moment, feelings of doubt and even dread flooding into his processor. He cleared his vocalizer to speak, though words were reluctant to form. “Aren’t you tired of it all?” he finally managed, tilting his head slightly as if in contemplation. “Of all the running and hiding, I mean?” He’d asked this from a place of empathy, could sense the other’s burden as though he carried the entire weight of the planet upon his shoulders.

Rather than taking offense at Jazz’s enquiry, Megatron understood that the Autobot had meant no harm by it, was only doing his best to try and understand the situation from the Deceptions’ perspective. It seemed that he had gotten closer to his goal, more so than any other Autobot thus far, yet there were still many things that Jazz did not know. “The time for running and hiding must come to an end. As Sentinel’s army grows stronger by the day we, too, must prepare to do what is necessary…” He trailed off, inhaled deeply before returning to the original topic. “If you remain with us we will not be able to guarantee your safety, particularly now that the Alliance is actively hunting us down,” he explained.

“And if I return to Iacon, there’s no guarantee that I won’t be arrested on the spot and tried for high treason,” Jazz immediately countered, his voice low yet utterly solemn. “I can’t say I know how you Decepticons usually deal with traitors amidst your ranks, but do you know what the penalty is for an Alliance officer, if he’s found guilty of treason?” Megatron finally fixed his gaze upon Jazz’s visor but said nothing, instead allowed him to speak what was in his heart to say. “It’s permanent deactivation,” Jazz answered. Just like what they were going to do to Scavenger.

Megatron nodded. The Autobot had made his point, and he had no intention of attempting to change his mind. “Very well. It is your choice.” Then he turned away and moved toward one of the control stations, studying a readout. “If there is ever a traitor among us, he is no Decepticon; he is simply a traitor, regardless of the badge he wears,” he added.

Jazz considered his words for a long moment, then glanced across at Rumble. He couldn’t help a small smile, though it was borne from melancholy; hadn’t the Cassetticon already suffered enough? Hadn’t they _all_ suffered enough – both Autobot and Decepticon alike? There had to be some way of putting a stop to the Alliance once and for all, before they all paid the ultimate price. “So, uh, where you planning on going next?” he asked, forcing his thoughts away from the terrible fate that awaited them all, if nothing was done to prevent it.

“I have yet to make a decision. We have a few options,” Megatron replied, turning to regard him with an unassuming curiosity. “In the meantime, if you are both going to be staying with us I would suggest that you mask your signatures and deactivate your internal com links as a precaution,” he advised.

“Ah, right. Yeah, that’s probably a good idea,” Jazz affirmed, realizing that the Decepticon leader was referring to both him and Wheeljack. He moved closer until he was standing less than a mechano-meter away from the silver and black mech, and cleared his vocalizer. “The battle at Kaon – you could have driven away the Neutral-led forces, yet you allowed Sentinel Prime to claim undisputed victory for the Alliance,” he stated in a forthright manner, though he did not sound accusatory. “Of course, our official report says that the Decepticons suffered a major defeat, yet not a single Autobot I know has ever questioned that claim. Every bot I’ve ever spoken to believes the official story.” He paused, watching Megatron’s reaction and hoping that he wasn’t overstepping the line.

The Decepticon leader straightened as he listened intently to what Jazz had to say, yet his expression gave nothing away of his thoughts or feelings. “And you don’t?”

“No, I don’t,” Jazz answered slowly, deliberately. “What I _do_ believe… is that given the circumstances, you did the best thing you could have done. I would have made the exact same choice,” he replied, and thought he sensed Megatron’s seemingly impenetrable energy field shifting slightly in response. Jazz felt sure that the larger mech was interested in what he had to say, so he continued, and hoped that he was right about what had really happened at Kaon on that fateful day. “If I’d had to choose between conceding defeat, or letting them terminate Starscream for something he’d never done – I’d have conceded defeat, too.” As he finished speaking, he noticed Rumble glance in his direction for a brief moment, before the Cassetticon returned to his task. Megatron continued to observe the Autobot in what the latter could only describe as stoic determination, making it hard to tell for sure what impact, if any, his words had had on the Decepticon leader, until he was finally offered a reply.

“It was the only way I could protect him, as well as safeguard the future of our race.” Megatron turned back to his console, and for a brief moment it looked as though he would not divulge any further information. But then, when Megatron spoke again, his words took Jazz completely by surprise. “Starscream is the only one who knows where to find the last remaining supply of primordial Substance X.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! Took me a month but this story is now fully revised and up to date, yay! While I work on Chapter 19, I'll be archiving my other stories from other sites here, so please subscribe, bookmark, or whatever else you need to do on this site to keep track of new postings as they happen if you don't want to miss them. I also have some brand new one-shots and longer fics in the works, too. Thanks again to all who commented and/or left Kudos, I love you guys!


	19. Chapter 19

Sentiments of antipathy and repugnance arose in Rook as he stood looking down at Jhiaxus’ battered form, watching Astro perform basic repairs. And the repairs were indeed basic – minimal, crude, just enough to keep the mech alive. He certainly wasn’t happy about it, though he was glad at least that the jet-former, now neutralized and under their control, would no longer be able to harm them. However, it wasn’t Jhiaxus that concerned him – what worried him now was the High Commander; he knew enough about the tyrannical war lord to know that he would be sending out additional search parties to hunt them all down without mercy, as soon as he caught wind of his second’s defeat at their hands.

Behind him the Autobots looked on with curious yet guarded interest, keeping their distance. Dirge and the other Decepticons watched the life-preserving procedure, facing Astro as they stood near the entrance to the building, while Thunderblast continued to pace impatiently back and forth across the room, every now and again meeting Dirge’s gaze. He had his arms crossed, tracking her movements with his optics until finally she let out a small sigh of exasperation, found an empty crate at the back of the room and sat, crossing one leg over the other, frowning and averting her gaze.

Twenty minutes passed and Astro finally straightened, took a step back to survey his handiwork. Affording a brief glance at Rook, he placed the laser welder down on the bench beside Jhiaxus’ still frame with a clatter. He could see the burning questions in Rook’s optics without the mech needing to speak, and inhaled an intake of air. “He’ll live,” Astro informed him. In the background, every other mech and femme present had their audial sensors pricked, wondering what was supposed to happen next.

Pure frustration crossed Rook’s features. “Haven’t we wasted enough time on this – this _slag-heap_ already? He doesn’t deserve to live!”

Astro couldn’t help the amused smile that touched the corners of his mouth, and placed a reassuring hand on the smaller mech’s shoulder. “Trust me, okay?” was all he said, before turning to move away. “Stay here and keep an optic on him. Let me know the moment he shows any sign of waking,” he added over his shoulder, as he crossed to the rear of the building to check on the recharging Comet.

Rook simply threw his hands up in defeat before shaking his head and releasing a sigh of exasperation. He looked down upon Jhiaxus’ damaged frame, and his expression darkened. The inky blackness of the gaping hole that had been burned into the front of the yellow and white jet’s armor, when Thunderblast had shot him with his own energy missiles, reminded Rook of a spark-consuming abyss. Jhiaxus’ facial features looked as if they were set into a permanent snarl, though his dim, yellow optics were mercifully devoid of any semblance of awareness or thought. Rook found himself wishing that the jet would never wake up again.

“Real piece of work, isn’t he?”

Rook snapped his head up, startled. Captivated by the sight of the battered jet, he hadn’t noticed Astrotrain standing by the bench opposite, calmly observing him.

The triple changer continued speaking without waiting for his reply. “I commend you – takes a strong fuel converter to stand up to this fragger. You’d never guess how many mechs have suffered… met their end because of him. Decepticons, too. I’ve seen him do things… wouldn’t wish on any mech.”

Rook watched Astrotrain shake his head in remorse at Hitec’s second in command and his jaw clenched tight. A wave of regret and an irrepressible anger swept through him then, as memories of the last two vorns he’d spent in service to Jhiaxus threatened to grip his restless spark. Even though Astro and the rest of the Decepticons had forgiven him for his treachery, were even prepared to put their faith in him again, he wondered whether he’d ever be able to forgive himself again. Regardless, the sight of the large frame of the jet-former laid out on the bench before him, now completely at their mercy, did nothing to alleviate his guilt. He tried to respond, but words were not forthcoming, and he was grateful at least that Astrotrain seemed to understand. The triple changer made no further comment but instead moved away, leaving him alone to watch over the off-lined mech.

A few mechano-feet away, Dirge was also feeling regretful, though for entirely different reasons. He stole a glance toward the yellow and purple femme sitting near the energon dispenser by the back wall, and cursed silently. It did not go unnoticed by Thrust, who was watching him with a sidelong glance.

Before the red and grey conehead could make any sort of lewd comment, Chromia and Moonracer approached the five seekers, who continued to look entirely out of place among Autobots. “Thank you for what you guys did back there,” Chromia said, breaking the ice. When she received only a hesitant look from Dirge and an awkward glance from Thrust, she motioned towards the dispenser towards the back. “If you like, you’re welcome to some energon,” she said and then moved away, smiling as she ignored their awkwardness.

Moonracer lingered, a broad, nervous smile plastered across her face. She glanced from one seeker to the other in quiet fascination until her gaze settled upon the mostly blue flyer, Bitstream, who already had his optics fixated on her. Chromia called for her, distracting her, while in the same instant Hotlink, the mauve and black seeker, elbowed his team mate hard. Moonracer and Bitstream both gave a start, and she gave them all an embarrassed, quick wave goodbye before spinning on her heel and dashing off after Chromia.

Dirge watched the two femmes greet Astro, as the three of them engaged in a private conversation that he couldn’t quite overhear. His gaze once more drifted across to Thunderblast sitting by the dispenser, and he debated going over to her. He could use Chromia’s offer of energon as a cover, perhaps avoid looking at the femme in the optics, and then maybe–

No, wait – what was he doing? He shook his head and frowned. He was Dirge, a fearless Decepticon warrior. No femme could ever make him feel like… like what?

To the Pits with it. He took a deep intake and strode purposefully across the room to the dispenser, poured himself a canister’s worth, threw his head back and guzzled the liquid down in one go. An unintentional burp followed as he placed the empty can firmly down on a small nearby table.

Whether he’d wanted it or not, he finally got Thunderblast’s attention as she turned her head to meet his gaze, a mixed look of involuntary fascination and disgust upon her face. She was about to say something but must have decided it wasn’t worth it. Instead she turned away again in disapproval.

Dirge’s reaction was to clear his vocalizer, determined not to be discouraged by her apparent lack of admiration for him. He supposed that he couldn’t really blame her, not after the way he’d treated her. He probably should’ve been a little more tactful – maybe a tad more honest with her from the beginning. “Listen, uh…” he began, but she continued to ignore him, which only made him want to try harder. “I’m sorry about–”

She leaped up out of her seat, and he winced, expecting her to give him an audial full; however, all he got was an impatient huff as she brushed past him without saying a word. Clearly, she wasn’t too interested in what he had to say, and he sighed deeply, shaking his head in disappointment as he watched her walk briskly across the room and disappear out the front door. He deliberately avoided the amused gazes from his team mates as he nonchalantly ambled back to join them.

In the middle of the room, Astro had his mind on much more serious issues. “You mentioned you had a transmitter?” he asked Chromia expectantly.

His gaze shifted across from her to Moonracer when the green femme’s face lit up with excitement. “Oh, sure, it’s right over there. If you want to, I’d be happy to show you how to use it–” she offered, pointing to a neatly stacked pile of equipment on the floor. Along with everything else, the transmitter had been moved off the bench top to make room for Jhiaxus’ frame.

Astro moved quickly toward the stack. Carefully picking up the small box, he examined it briefly before carrying it back to the bench, roughly shoving Jhiaxus’ frame to make some extra room for it. Moonracer watched him intently as he powered up the unit and began to tinker with the controls, flicking switches and turning the frequency dial until, after only a few seconds, he had it set to the required communication band. He did not seem to notice Firestar as she watched him from a distance with a defensive posture, leaning with her back against the wall and arms crossed.

He initialized a comms link and waited for the other end to respond. Rook and Astrotrain moved closer to stand one on either side, while Dirge, Ramjet and Bitstream also moved closer to listen in, followed by Thrust and Hotlink. Sunstreaker was the last to join them; Firestar remained where she was.

It took an entire minute before the channel was established and Cybertron finally responded. “Who’s this?” came a voice over the transmitter. It sounded defensive, cautious. To Chromia’s astonishment, she recognized it as belonging to Rumble.

“It’s Astro,” he declared calmly.

Rumble relayed to an unseen party on the other end, “It’s Astro?” His tone had changed – uncertainty, perhaps? Curiosity. Then, “Uh, hold on just an astro-sec.”

The mech that spoke over the transmitter a few seconds later finally made Firestar move away from the wall and head toward the group. She moved silently, audials on full alert.

“Astro, what’s your status?”

Astro leaned closer to the transmitter, ignoring all the optics in the room trained upon him. “Megatron: this comms is unsecured, so I only have about a minute. I have Comet with me – he’s safe. Jhiaxus has been neutralized, and…” He glanced at Astrotrain briefly, an unspoken tension shared between the two. “Requesting permission to extend our mission objective.”

Momentary silence. “Go ahead.”

Astro looked tentatively towards Chromia and Moonracer, his gaze steadily holding theirs. “Elita One’s been captured. The rest of her crew is safe; they’re with us…” he began to explain, but then did not elaborate further.

A longer pause was followed by a short reply. “Do what is necessary. Help will be on its way to you soon. In the meantime, we’ll try to establish better comms.”

“Understood. Astro out.”

And that was it; the entire conversation had lasted less than a minute. Disconnecting the communications channel and powering down the unit, Astro gave Moonracer a grateful nod of acknowledgment before handing it back to her. He did not stop to wait, but immediately turned his attention back to Jhiaxus as the green femme was left staring at him, utterly fascinated by the tall Cybertronian mech, before she moved to return the transmitter to its place with the rest of the equipment.

“Rook? I’ll need your help,” he said, as he leaned over to get a closer look at Jhiaxus’ head. He picked up a long, thin tool and reached around beneath the red helm before carefully inserting it into the base of the jet’s cranial unit.

Rook stared at the larger mech with arms crossed, reluctant to move from where he stood. He was still at a complete loss to comprehend Astro’s intentions and was altogether frustrated at the lack of intel he had been given thus far. It wasn’t until Astro paused momentarily from his task to look up at him, silently beckoning, that Rook gave a defeated sigh.

“ _Now_ , Rook. I’d rather he didn’t regain consciousness until after we’re done with him.” Before returning his focus on the enemy jet, Astro added, with more patience, “Please?”

With a soft groan Rook relented and moved towards the bench. “Fine. What do you need me to do?”

* * *

Back inside the catacombs, Ratchet kept moving, not slowing until the group of five reached the fork in the long tunnel, when finally he came to an abrupt stop. Holding up a halting hand to the others, he listened quietly. When he was sure they were alone he paused, sparing a few moments to think.

“So, where to now?” Hound enquired, glancing down the tunnel to their left.

“That’ll take us back to Iacon,” Ratchet informed him, though offered no further reassurances as he kept his gaze focused on the smooth, rocky ground. One of the halogen strips set into the wall opposite was blinking intermittently, causing their long shadows to blip in and out of existence. He switched on his helm light.

“I can’t believe they had Tailgate. Maybe they didn’t kill him, maybe he was just offline–” Hot Rod said, his words echoing eerily around the empty tunnel while he met Arcee’s gaze with wide optics. He was still unsettled by what had happened earlier outside the Decagon.

“No, they killed him,” Ratchet corrected him, shaking his head.

“But why would–”

“I said they killed him, alright?!” Ratchet snapped, then immediately took a deep, long intake, attempting to curb his frustration before he found himself unjustly taking it out on his friends. Hot Rod was a good mech and he meant well, but he didn’t have the optic, or the understanding, of a well trained medic. Ratchet continued in a softer tone, “What, you think they’re not capable? Just look at what they did to Groove. He’s lucky to even be alive.”

Hot Rod glanced at Groove standing behind him and couldn’t help his embarrassment. He had failed to make the obvious connection. “Hey, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking,” he confessed, but Groove just gave him a sad smile. After a moment, Ratchet broke the awkward silence that fell amongst them.

“He had a crushed vocalizer… his main processor was hit with such a high-powered energy beam that it turned back into primordial goo. But you wouldn’t even know he was deactivated, unless you have the proper training to see it.”

Arcee turned away from the group, a hand covering her mouth, aghast and looking as though she might purge at any moment. Certainly, none of them could blame her if she did.

Seeing her distress, Hot Rod moved closer, reaching out to place a comforting hand on her arm. “It’s going to be okay, you’ll see,” he reassured her in a soothing voice. She nodded weakly, grateful at least simply to have someone to lean on, even if she didn’t quite believe his words. For such a presumptuous, keen warrior as Hot Rod, he had a surprisingly gentle touch.

“Alright, let’s keep moving,” Ratchet said, arriving at a decision and starting to lead the way down the right-hand passage.

“Wait – where are we going?” Hound asked after him as the others began to follow the medic.

“The Western boundary – I want to check something out first. If we go in this direction, I should be able to lead us through past the Central Hall and then out near the Border Regions without too much trouble,” the medic rambled on with renewed determination.

“Sounds like a plan, but then what?” Hound insisted.

He halted to emphasize his point. “ _Then_ , we’ll hopefully know more, once we get there. We’ll just take it one step at a time, okay?” His expression told Hound that it would be wiser just to keep his mouth shut.

Ratchet resumed walking, his helm light casting eerie, long shadows across the tunnel, and they all fell into step behind him in silence.

* * *

As Ratchet’s party retraced their steps through the catacombs heading west, Trailbreaker, Smokescreen, Bluestreak and Red Alert instead headed along the main expressway that led through the busy South Central district, hoping to reach the Altihex border without being noticed by security teams while hiding in plain sight. Almost an hour had passed since the four Autobots had parted ways with Ratchet and his team from east Iacon, who had left Wheeljack’s old workshop approximately two breems before them. So far, they had not encountered any incidents.

Speeding down the smooth stretch of road in car mode, they stayed close and spoke little. As Trailbreaker led them south-west past the high rise towers and beneath looming bridges, he found himself wondering what might greet them once they arrived in Altihex. Under normal circumstances, he would be reassured that the Autobots stationed there had been informed of their intended arrival and would be expecting them, as was standard protocol between different Autobot controlled outposts; however, these were not normal circumstances, and he couldn’t help feeling unnerved about the entire situation. He wasn’t even sure that any of it made sense – perhaps he was still deep in recharge back at the command post, or maybe he was hallucinating? Perhaps he’d been alive for far too long, and was beginning to lose touch with reality, which was all well and good had it not been for what had happened to Groove – confirmed by the Protectobot’s own testimony. The mech had been attacked, and not by Decepticons, but by _Neutrals_. Then there was Sideswipe’s very odd behaviour ever since he’d returned to Iacon, and how suddenly his story had flipped, from harbouring strong anti-Alliance sentiments to becoming Sentinel’s confidante and right-hand bot. Watching the change in him had been bizarre, though Trailbreaker, like many of his fellow Autobots in Iacon, could see that Sideswipe was being manipulated somehow by Sentinel Prime. Everybody worth their transformation cog knew it, even if they dared not say it.

And what of Ratchet – one of his closest and dearest friends whom he’d known for eras? Up until only a few hours ago he’d never seen the medic in such a state – taking what could only be considered as desperate measures, so convinced was he of the subterfuge that was going on at this very moment, veritably, right on their watch. Trailbreaker didn’t want to believe what their chief medical officer had told them. He didn’t want to face the possibility that perhaps the Autobot command hierarchy, which had been a part of his life ever since his creation and in which he had placed his absolute faith, was somehow vulnerable to corruption and able to be infiltrated. Indeed, had _already_ been infiltrated. He didn’t want to believe it, but at least he was wise enough, and old enough, to know that he could not ignore it.

He began to get the unnerving feeling that they were being monitored, though there was nothing showing up on his scanners. With a signal to the others he began to slow and pulled across the expressway until he came to a stop at an intersection. They followed his lead, then transformed and stood looking out across the built up suburbs. From a small rise, the four of them could see across a multi-layered valley while the expressway, visible for mechano-miles behind them, wound its way past and extended far into the distance until it crossed the Altihex border and continued on.

Smokescreen turned to him, and the mech’s expression told Trailbreaker of his uneasiness. Beside them, Bluestreak’s beam rifle appeared in one hand as his finger played with the trigger, causing visible lines of static to be ejected from the tip of the barrel. He was nervous, and probably afraid, though was too proud to admit it. “Maybe – maybe its Neutrals. Like Ratchet said. If – if Sentinel Prime’s managed to take control somehow, he’s probably got security teams out looking for us right now. Maybe we should–”

“Shh!” Smokescreen said, cutting through the gunner’s blathering. “Do you think we’ve been spotted?” he queried Trailbreaker.

The dark grey strategist shook his head slowly. “I’m not picking up anything.” Yet, something wasn’t right – he couldn’t explain it.

“Should we go sub-level?” Red Alert suggested, as he kept a keen optic on the continual traffic zooming past them along the raceway.

Moving into the tunnels beneath the surface had crossed his mind, several times already, but eventually Trailbreaker had decided against it. It was the much slower route, and if they’d already been spotted it wouldn’t make much difference, anyway. “I think it’s best we keep to the main stretch. It’s the fastest way to Altihex from here. The longer we take the more chances they have of catching up with us.” Sure, he had some doubts about his assertions, but he was determined not to let them show, to present only strength as team leader. Primus knew they needed it. _He_ needed it.

At that moment, as Trailbreaker was about to transform back into his vehicle mode ready to re-enter the expressway, a group of oncoming Alliance security vehicles slowed suddenly before slipping off the expressway and coming to a stop before them. It wasn’t until the members of the patrol had transformed out of their vehicle modes with weapons pointing, scowls filled with smug superiority etched upon their faces, that Trailbreaker understood the extent of the danger they faced.

* * *

Megatron’s surprise revelation had given Jazz more than enough to think about. He stood in the control room now, silently watching as the Decepticon leader turned away to scroll through data that was being output on the monitor in front of him.

The mention of Starscream by first Wheeljack and then Megatron, in connection with the so-called Substance X and the Dark Plague, caused Jazz to wonder where the much maligned and, dare he say, misunderstood seeker could be found today. Was he even still alive and functional? He couldn’t prove it, of course, however after his recent exchange with Megatron, Jazz would bet the bulk of his credits that the high-profile seeker was very much alive today, and had possibly gone into hiding.

Terminated or not, Starscream was a name that, since the end of the Last Great War, was both instantly recognized and despised within the Autobot upper crust, but even throughout the lowest ranks the name was synonymous with death and destruction, with despotism and with genocide. It was the main reason that mechs had ceased uttering it within Iacon’s command post, lest it may bring up raw emotions in bots who were still, almost a vorn later, unable to cope with the losses they had suffered throughout the Dark Plague – the deadly virus that the seeker had allegedly created. Jazz had witnessed it many times before – the reviled name alone reawakening within many of his fellow Autobots a deep-seated desire for justice and revenge, while triggering a hysteria and even psychosis that could only be abated with the administration of strong, sedating subroutines.

But the question of whether or not Starscream was still alive today was of no real consequence to the remaining Autobots in Iacon. As far as they were concerned, all Decepticons were guilty, and all Decepticons deserved to die for their part in unleashing the Dark Plague. To them, Starscream was as good as dead, and if he wasn’t – if he ever showed up anywhere on Cybertron again – he would be. They would make sure of it. Streetwise’s recent behaviour alone was clear testament of that.

However, in light of what Megatron had hinted to Jazz only a few minutes ago, the Autobots in Iacon had seen nothing yet. According to what Wheeljack knew about this Substance X, their fight was far from over for the Last Great War, as Optimus had so aptly put it, never ended last vorn. It had begun. Yet not even Optimus had understood the full implication of his own words – the full meaning of which had only now begun to reveal itself to Jazz, bit by bit, beginning with the abominable news of the growing Neutral army’s true origins.

So engrossed was Jazz in these thoughts that when the communications console awoke with a steady beep, he barely noticed it, or the way Rumble rushed to answer it. “Who’s this?” the Cassetticon demanded into the transducer, highly suspicious of any unexpected transmission.

The reply that Rumble must have received was inaudible to Jazz’s audial receptors, though from the mech’s abrupt change in manner and the look of hopeful anticipation that suddenly crossed his features, Jazz guessed that the communication was probably significant, possibly even urgent.

“It’s Astro?” Rumble informed Megatron with the news. To Jazz’s curious astonishment, the mention of the name immediately got the Decepticon leader’s full attention, who nodded for Rumble to accept the transmission, and so the Cassetticon spoke into the transducer once more. “Uh, hold on just an astro-sec.” By now, Jazz couldn’t help the feeling that perhaps he probably shouldn’t be here listening in, but neither Megatron nor Rumble bothered to give him any hint that it was time for him to leave the control room, so he remained where he was, watching quietly.

Megatron had stopped what he’d been doing, and now walked away from his console to stand behind Rumble, whose stunned expression Jazz found quite curious. Megatron gave him another silent go-ahead with a nod, and the Cassetticon promptly turned his attention back to his console, where he began to initiate a countermeasure against any hostile scanning sweeps for as long as the unsecured channel remained open.

“Astro, what’s your status?” Megatron asked, giving Rumble a nod indicating that he should switch the speaker to audio.

The voice on the other end of the transmitter came through loud and clear, though Jazz could match neither the name nor the voice’s modulation to any known Decepticon within his memory banks, which he found rather odd. “Megatron: the comms is unsecured, so I only have about a minute. I have Comet with me – he’s safe. Jhiaxus has been neutralized, and…” The mech’s voice trailed off, but only for a brief pause. “Requesting permission to extend our mission objective,” he said.

“Go ahead.”

“Elita One’s been captured. The rest of her crew is safe; they’re with us…”

Jazz started. He stole a glance in the direction of the two Decepticons as he listened in, and felt his frame involuntarily shudder. Tensing, he fought hard not to be discouraged by the unfavorable news. First Sentinel Prime and the Neutral army, then Wheeljack, and now Elita One, too? His spark ached, but especially for Optimus, who would not cope well at all when he, too, discovered what he’d just learned – if he hadn’t already.

“Do what is necessary. Help will be on its way to you soon. In the meantime, we’ll try to establish better comms,” Megatron replied.

“Understood. Astro out,” the mech said on the other end of the transmitter, before Rumble turned promptly around to face Megatron, letting him know the channel had been disconnected.

“Was it traced?” Megatron asked. Rumble shook his head confidently, no. “Good. Update the others and…” He trailed off as he turned to acknowledge the Autobot again, for the first time since the transmission. He was about to say something when the Combaticon leader appeared at the entrance then, glancing from Jazz to Megatron. Scrapper had filled him in earlier on everything that had happened since Scavenger’s rescue, including how Jazz and Wheeljack had come to be among them, as well as his own team’s eventual rescue from the Detention Banks.

“Uh, Megatron?” Onslaught queried. “You wanted to see me.” He seemed hesitant, as if he was unsure of how much he could say out loud, in front of an Autobot.

Megatron gave him a welcoming nod and encouraged him inside. “Onslaught – how are the new accommodations?”

The large Combaticon nodded assuredly. “Fine, Megatron. It’s nothing like what we had in Kaon, of course, but it’s far better than being confined inside those dreadful stasis pods, to be sure.”

His comment elicited a smile from the Decepticon leader, who placed a reassuring hand upon the navy blue and green warrior’s shoulder. “Indeed, but we will not be here for much longer. We must move our base of operations. I’d like to deploy your team for a small errand first, and the sooner the better, but not until you’ve all been cleared and have sufficiently restored.”

“Oh, we’re ready to go. Scrapper’s already checked us over. He said we’re doing better than what he’d expected, given the circumstances, and to tell you the truth I can’t wait to get back into active duty. Personally, I’d love to pay the Slag Maker and his cronies a little visit, for starters.”

Megatron nodded in satisfaction. “Then, we must make ready,” he said, and just when Jazz thought he’d been forgotten about, Megatron turned to him. “You’ve stated that you want to learn the reason why those miners were killed on the XR-5 mining station, correct?” he asked, carefully selecting his words, studying Jazz intently as if he were trying to decide whether or not he should let him in on some heavily guarded secrets. It wasn’t too far from the truth.

Jazz nodded affirmatively, surprised at the unexpected line of questioning. “That’s right.”

“Well, then… now’s your chance. The Combaticons will be leaving for XR-5 very soon. You might like to join them. We could do with your special expertise, and the additional help,” Megatron explained as Onslaught stood by, listening patiently to the conversation. He hesitated a moment before continuing, his tone oddly subdued, burdened somehow. “However, I must warn you. Once you have seen and understood for yourself… there will be no turning back.”

The room fell silent as all optics were focused expectantly on him. Even Rumble was looking at him in quiet anticipation. Jazz glanced from one to the other until his gaze settled upon the Decepticon leader. Was he prepared to trust the Decepticons, and perhaps risk his life, on a mission to revisit the site where a horrific massacre had recently taken place, with the promise of not only learning the truth, but also in the hopes of helping to eventually defeat the Neutral army and restore peace on Cybertron? What other choice did he have now? And, what exactly did Megatron mean when he said there would be no turning back? He didn’t know, but he would take his chances. There was still much information that Megatron and the other Decepticons had not divulged, though he hoped that, in time, they would be able to establish a level of trust. For now, all he knew was that he had been guided here, by the hand of Primus, for a reason. _Providence_.

* * *

Ratchet’s extensive knowledge of the area in and around the catacombs but also of sub-central Iacon, along with his high level security clearance, enabled his small team to utilize the restricted access tunnels beneath the surface to arrive at the Border Regions undetected, bypassing the Central Hall’s and the High Council Pavilion’s security check points.

The oddly jutting, multi-layered disks that formed the leaning, stacked platforms of the Promontory rose up before them in full view as the team emerged from the western-most tunnel exit into the territory of the Border Regions, in Iacon’s west.

Hot Rod dashed out onto a wide, sweeping thoroughfare that circled around and disappeared behind the Promontory close to Iacon’s border, before stopping to glance back at Ratchet in silent questioning. Apart from casual commuters, nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary here.

Ignoring him, Ratchet stepped out into the open and looked slowly around, saying nothing as his internal scanners were activated.

“What are you looking for?” Hot Rod asked, unable to curb his curiosity, but was met with a raised palm.

“Wait–” Ratchet said, as Arcee and Groove exchanged cautious glances. He turned to Hound expectantly. “Well?” The green tracker raised an optic ridge. “You’re a tracker, aren’t you? So track!”

“Okay… but, who am I supposed to be track–”

“Tailgate – who else?” Ratchet replied impatiently.

“Isn’t he – I mean – didn’t they just, you know?” Hesitant, Hound wasn’t following.

“Kill him?” Hot Rod finished solemnly, walking back to join the others.

Ratchet shot them both disapproving looks. “Well, _yes_ , but his energon was most likely spilled, and there’s bound to be a residual signature left behind. You should still be able to pick it up, especially if they murdered him within the last hour or so.” Internally, he felt like purging as he spoke the words, but outwardly he forced himself to use a dispassionate tone to say what needed to be said. He had to.

Hound’s optics lit up in understanding. “Right. I’ll see what I can do,” he stated, and immediately activated his inbuilt thermal imaging scanner, setting it to a wide, sweeping range. Silence fell across the small group as they waited for the scan’s results with bated ventilators. Hound hesitated. “Hm.” Looking at Ratchet again, he gestured uncertainly towards the Promontory. “I’m not sure what I’m picking up, exactly, but there’s some sort of residual a few mechano-meters that way. Could be a nothing, though. Just a stain on the pavement. I’d have to get closer to find out.”

Ratchet was satisfied with that, and indicated in the direction of the sub-orbital station. “Great. Lead the way.”

* * *

_We’ve done nothing wrong. Try to stay calm. Make no sudden moves._ Three Autobots and two Neutrals stood facing Trailbreaker and his team, weapons in hand. There was a particular cockiness about them that he did not like – certainly they were over-confident, as if they had a Primus-given right to do what they were doing.

“We’re looking for a bunch of Autobots who fled Iacon without the proper authorization. Sentinel really wants ‘em to come back – for their own safety, you know?” one of the Neutrals informed them in a gruff voice. He was leering at them, glancing from one to the other as if daring them to challenge his authority. One step out of line was all it would take.

“Uh, no, sorry; we haven’t seen any bot from Iacon out this way,” Trailbreaker replied as he glanced across at Smokescreen and Bluestreak. The gunner looked nervous – too nervous for his liking – beam rifle still in hand. It would take a miracle for them to get away without a fight at this point, but he was prepared to do whatever was necessary; he couldn’t risk any of them being captured and taken back to Iacon.

“What are your designations?” the Neutral asked. He didn’t make the obvious connection between Trailbreaker’s group and the escaped Autobots, but one of his Autobot security guards did.

The armoured bot had his optic on the unspoken communication between Trailbreaker and Bluestreak, as well as the latter’s gun, and a malicious grin appeared across his face. “He’s lying – it’s them! They’re the Autobots from Iacon!” he declared, raising his weapon.

“What?” The Neutral looked back at his team mate for a few moments before his cranial circuits kicked into gear and he snarled, turning to Trailbreaker once more. “You four are coming with us–”

Red Alert instinctively stepped back as Trailbreaker activated his twin blasters, and in less than an astro-second Smokescreen had transformed into his vehicle mode and was swerving around the security team in an attempt to create a sudden distraction with an outpouring of dense, smoky exhaust. It only had to last long enough for Trailbreaker and his companions to high tail it out of there via the expressway.

“Stop ‘em! Don’t let ‘em escape!”

The Neutral’s harsh cry was drowned out by an eruption of weapons fire, the first few shots quickly turning into a frenzy of explosions. Hot energy, searing through armour plating, was made almost impossible to see through the heavy smoke. Trailbreaker shouted out a few orders to his team but the confusion and chaos that had erupted around him was too much. He activated his force field, but with limited visibility he wasn’t sure whether he would be able to protect each of his team mates.

Smokescreen, circling and dodging blasts around him, transformed back into his robot mode to take aim through the haze he’d created. He began to fire his electro disruptor, sending debilitating arcs that targeted and then connected with members of the opposing team, while several return bursts from the enemy were absorbed by Trailbreaker’s force field. Without it, they would have already lost the battle. Beside him, Bluestreak did not hold back as the gunner continued to discharge his high-energy particle beam rifle into the fray with a shrill war cry. He would not flee; he would stay to defend his team, no matter what.

It turned out to be a swift yet grievous encounter. As the smoke cleared, Trailbreaker saw three of the fallen security guards on the pavement, inert, and for a moment a pang of guilt washed over him. Two of them were Autobots. As he was hit by the realization of what they’d done, he felt Smokescreen grasp his shoulder, followed by a forceful shake. “We should go, before other teams are alerted,” he was advised by the tactician with a calm yet urgent tone.

But Trailbreaker needed a few moments to gather his thoughts. The last Autobot guard made to flee from the scene while cradling a wound to his midsection, spilled energon staining the pavement. Bluestreak moved to pursue, but he was held back with a heavy grip upon his shoulder. “Let him go.”

“But if we let him get away he’ll alert Sentinel Prime!” the gunner protested. “Let me go after him. I can stop him!”

“No,” Trailbreaker told him sternly, deactivating his force field. “They’ve likely already been notified. Our best bet is to continue to Altihex.” He shifted his attention suddenly towards the Neutral who had first spoken to them – the leader of the security team – badly wounded though still conscious, the mech was leaning over a figure on the ground only a few mechano-meters away. Alarmed, Trailbreaker rushed over to the scene before pushing the Neutral roughly to the ground, then knelt down to examine Red Alert. The medic protégé had been hit, and was offline.

“What happened to Red? Is he – is he okay?” Bluestreak called out to him, but was ignored.

Trailbreaker needed to get Red Alert some help, and quickly, before another security team returned to take them all into custody. He opened his private com link. “Ratchet? You need to get here, now.”

* * *

Crouched on the pavement directly below the Promontory’s overhang, Ratchet examined the microscopic residue that had been detected by Hound. For a full minute he said nothing, brushing away any attempts at inquiry. When he finally stood up, glancing back in the direction from whence they had come, his companions looked towards him in silent expectation, and he slowly nodded. “Well…”

“Well, what?” Hot Rod gazed at him.

“It’s Tailgate’s, all right. He was still alive. The bastards made him suffer. He was dragged from this spot, still conscious… helpless to save himself.” His vocalizer caught, and his gaze drifted up towards the Promontory. “ _Why_ , dammit?” But no one dared utter a word for a long moment.

“Maybe he saw something?” Hound suggested.

“Or what if he was trying to get help?” Hot Rod added. “What if he was trying to warn Altihex about the Neutrals?” he said. “The Promontory would be the first place I’d try if I knew the whole of Central Iacon was compromised.”

Ratchet looked at him squarely in the optics. “You know, I think you might be right. Come on, let’s go take a look around.” Without motioning for the others to follow, he strode towards the entrance of the ground level platform.

“Wait, Ratchet – it could be a trap! If they already know Tailgate was here, they’ll probably be ready for any bot who tries to get inside,” Arcee called out after him as she caught up to the others.

The chief medic did not stop to turn back or heed her warning, but attempted to gain entry into the Promontory using his access code. It did not take long for him to realize that it wasn’t working. “It’s locking me out,” he informed them, turning back to his group.

“You can’t get in? Here, let me try–” Hound offered, stepping forward, but was stopped by the red and white Autobot.

“No, never mind that now. We’ve got – ah, hold on an astro-second.” Abruptly he shifted his attention to his private com line, and listened to the speaker on the other end. “Alright, we’re on our way right now,” he said, before turning back to his team. “That was Trailbreaker. They were attacked – let’s go,” he said, and started past the Promontory, transforming into his vehicle mode and turning onto the stretch of expressway along the Iacon border that led into Altihex.

* * *

The glaring lights coupled with the metallic coldness of the torture room did little to assuage Elita’s apprehension or exhaustion. Surprisingly, though, it wasn’t the punishment she’d received at the hands of Sixshot that was leaving her feeling weary, nor even the lack of proper recharge she hadn’t been afforded since she was abducted. Elita was emotionally drained; home sick, and anxious to see her crew again, and although her visit with Alpha Trion had comforted her greatly, still his parting message had left her with a sadness and a loneliness that she had never known before. Deep down, more than anything, the one thing she truly wished was that Optimus – the most revered and idolized Autobot leader and warrior to have ever lived, and the mech she loved beyond all measure – would be okay.

Though her strength had returned quickly enough, she knew she needed to conserve her energy if she was going to find a way to escape. Anxiously she stood and, trying to curb her desperation, made her way towards the shelves along the back wall, looking for something – anything – that might help her. She picked up a prod and examined it, then powered it up and pressed the button on its handle. It sent out a strong jolt of electric charge and she flinched, then shook her head and shoved it back onto the shelf. She ran her hand lightly over the other torture implements. There was nothing here but a large collection of whips and prods of different sizes – nothing she could really put to good use. Crossing the length of the back wall with deliberate strides, she stopped at the end of the shelf.

As long as that anti-transformation device was plugged into her neural circuitry, her options were limited. She knew that any attempt to pull it out, or if she were to run at the first opportunity, she would find herself lying on the floor unconscious before she could realize what had happened. With her thoughts racing to come up with a plan of escape, she looked around the room for a few moments hoping to find a way out. However, apart from the shelves and chairs, the space was unadorned and mostly empty. The door would be impossible to override; even if she possessed the strength to force it open manually, security would be alerted immediately and she’d be easily hunted down and recaptured. Of course, it didn’t help that she had no idea where she was within the Base, or the quickest way out.

With a sigh she retraced her steps, and then carefully picked up the prod on the shelf once more. Holding it thoughtfully in her hands, she hesitated for a moment. It would hurt like heck, but it was the only way she could think of that might actually work. She needed to free herself of the device. If she could achieve that much, at least, she would have a fighting chance.

Elita prepared herself mentally for what she was about to do. Activating the prod again, she held it with one hand while reaching up with the other to carefully feel for the round object lodged into her neck. Though she would not be able to pull it out manually, a quick, sharp zap of current aimed right at the device ought to do the trick. However, it needed to be a precise shot; the device needed to be neutralized faster than it could activate. Very carefully, she touched the prod’s tip to the object, lining up the tool with both hands and then, after counting to three, hit the button.

She cried out in excruciating pain. The sound of her torment bounced off the metallic walls of the room, making her agonized scream ring like a bell. Her strength and balance suddenly gone, she collapsed to the floor. The prod hit the ground first with a clang and rolled away, free of her grasp, but she did not notice it. Her vision was malfunctioning – all she could see was an explosion of white light and flashes of color – and she instinctively held a hand against her neck as she lay writhing on the floor, fighting with all her strength against the pain, stubbornly determined to remain online. She could not afford to slip into unconsciousness, no matter what.

The astro-seconds ticked by and a whole minute passed, and then the pain began to subside. It occurred to her then that she was still conscious. Cautiously yet with the promise of hope, she strained to adjust her vision and found that it was gradually returning to normal. Relieved and inhaling heavily, she pushed herself up to a sitting position and looked around to make sure that she was still alone in the room. She was. It had worked!

Quickly reaching for her neck, she found that the device was hot to the touch. Without thinking, she gave it a tug, and it came off easily. Examining it for a moment, the object she held in her hand was the charred remains of what was once an anti-transformation device. Relieved, she paused in rest and thanked Primus for her small victory, then flung the burned out device over her shoulder. She was free, but certainly not clear of danger just yet. She needed to find her way out of the base, and as quickly as possible before the Slag Maker came for her. Shuddering at the thought, she slowly stood up and began to stumble towards the door. Even though she had successfully removed the device, it would still take her a few minutes more to regain her full strength and balance. Hesitating, she noticed the prod on the floor by her feet, and bent to retrieve it. It was still powered up.

The next moment, the door slid open.

* * *

Inside the holding bay that continued to serve as a jail cell for Optimus and his loyal officers, not a single word had been spoken amongst them since the Neutrals had departed with the Aerialbots, for almost half an hour, until Ironhide could not take their silent defeat any longer.

“Dammit, the Aerialbots should have been back by now,” he blurted to no one in particular as he paced back and forth in frustration. Streetwise glanced up at him briefly from his spot on the floor before looking away again, uninterested.

“Maybe they’re all being tortured as we speak,” Gears retorted dryly, unconcerned about who heard him.

“Ah, shut yer mouth,” Ironhide snapped at him. “And just what on Cybertron does Sentinel think he’s doing, keeping us cooped up in here like caged Predacons?!” Throwing the three Neutral guards a disgruntled glare, he was about to say something more when a groan came from behind him. Turning to look, he noticed the injured Brawn staggering to his feet, his close companions grabbing a hold of his arms in an effort to steady him.

“Get off me,” Brawn rebuked them, brushing them aside brusquely. “I don’t need your help. I’m fine. See?” All optics in the room drifted towards the olive green and orange bot.

First Aid stepped towards him again with the intention of offering him a helping hand. “Brawn, you really shouldn’t be–”

Brawn lashed out at him. “Didn’t you hear me? I said leave me alone!”

Hot Spot placed a hand of silent support on First Aid’s back, guiding him away from the scene. If Brawn didn’t want their help, then so be it. Being locked up in here was certainly taking its toll – on all of them.

Brawn glanced wildly around the room, as if appraising them all to see who dared challenge him. When no one made a move or spoke, he relaxed a bit. “Anybody else got something to say? No? Good. Like I said – I feel fine.” His gaze turned towards Optimus, and they locked optics. “Prime, permission to leave and return to active duty.”

Optimus regarded him carefully but did not offer a response, so Ironhide spoke in his place. “What’s gotten into you? Don’t you remember what happened? You want to get out of here so bad then go kiss Sentinel’s tailpipe.”

The frown on Brawn’s face soon turned into a grimace, and without waiting to confer with his mini bot companions he stepped towards the exit, fists clenched. “Let me outta here!” he demanded, facing the Neutral guards square on.

“Brawn, I strongly advise that you stand down–” Prowl warned, but the mini bot wouldn’t listen, and when he thought that things couldn’t get any worse Cliffjumper rushed forward to join his friend. “–both of you!” Prowl added in alarm. He glanced at Optimus pleadingly, but the Autobot Commander’s attention was fully upon Brawn and Cliffjumper, watching them intently.

The Neutrals chuckled disdainfully at the two mini bots, whose pitiful attempts at demanding to be released proved to be nothing more than a fleeting source of amusement for the guards. As Brawn mouthed off at them, they simply remained where they stood, weapons in hand and ready to put the hostages in line if the situation got too out of hand.

“I’m going to count to five, and if you haven’t opened that door by the time I’ve finished counting I’m going to tear you all new aft ports!” Brawn threatened, snarling at them and showing them no fear. As he took another step forward the Neutrals trained their weapons at his head, and then grinned cruelly.

Prowl was about to step in, hoping that he could at least talk Brawn out of his foolishness, when Optimus reached out a hand to hold him back. “No. I’ll handle this,” he said quietly, then nodded in reassurance before stepping forward to stand behind Brawn, holding open palms up in a gesture of pacifism. The blasters were quickly diverted away from Brawn and toward him. “Please, we mean you no harm. He must be malfunctioning.”

“Like hell I am!” Brawn rebutted.

“Don’t come any closer or we’ll have to shoot the lot of you,” one of the guards warned, waving his blaster again at Brawn as the mini bot inched another step closer. Standing behind Optimus and beside Bumblebee and Windcharger, Blades watched the confrontation intensely.

“There is no need for that. Brawn, Cliffjumper, stand down. Don’t make things any more difficult than what they already are, or I will have no choice but to note your transgressions on your records. Is that understood?” Optimus insisted. Disgruntled, nevertheless Brawn complied, taking a step back. The guards paused and then relaxed their weapons, satisfied that the situation was under control.

Then the smallest, ever so slight, barely discernible nod from Optimus gave Brawn the cue that he’d been hoping for. Without warning, Brawn leaped forward and ploughed straight into two of the guards even before they realized what was happening, tackling them and slamming them both into the sealed door with a loud grunt. In the same instant, the Autobot leader activated his blaster and shot the still standing guard cleanly in the chest with three blasts, knocking him out cold.

Channelling all his rage onto one of the guards, Brawn pummelled into his face with both fists whilst straddling him, pinning him down on the floor against the door. The Neutral’s weapon fell from his hand as he struggled to get the mini bot off him, but Brawn was dogged, determined to get his revenge.

Nearby, Cliffjumper attempted to subdue the third guard, rushing him and aiming for his weapon, but the Neutral was stronger and faster, and he found himself being grabbed and slammed down onto the floor. However, the struggle lasted only a few more astro-seconds as the guard all of a sudden jerked back with the shock of a weapons blast from behind. Cliffjumper scrambled to get himself back up, only to see Blades pointing his photon pistol directly at the guard’s back, who collapsed to the ground in a heap.

With two of the three guards now offline, Brawn kept driving into his foe, oblivious to all else around him, until finally the Neutral managed to roll out from under him with a forceful shove. Both their intakes were working overtime to recover from their exertions. The guard managed to stagger to his feet, reaching across for the blaster he’d dropped with the intention of finishing off the unruly mini bot as punishment for his rebellion. But as his hand went to grab the weapon it was pinned to the floor by a crushing weight. He only had enough time to look up for a fleeting moment to see Optimus Prime’s determined blue optics staring down at him. Already weakened by the beating he’d received at the mini bot’s hands, fresh energon leaking from lacerations across his cheeks and brow, the heavy, powerful blue fist that connected with his nose was the final blow.

* * *

Watching Astro and Rook work on Jhiaxus, Sunstreaker couldn’t help but notice Firestar’s guarded posture as she stood near Comet’s unresponsive form on the recharge berth. Acknowledging him, she finally shook her head and confided softly, not taking her optics away from the mysterious mech who had filled Chromia with hope of Elita One’s rescue. “I just wish I knew what the hell was going on!” she said in exasperation. “You know, I remember a time when we Autobots stood united against the Decepticons. We knew who our enemies were and we knew who we could trust. And yet, look at us now. It’s like the entire world’s gone crazy, or I’m caught in some ridiculous nightmare that I don’t know how to wake up from.”

He listened to her frustrations quietly, nodding once to let her know she had his attention. Glancing briefly down at Comet, memories of his recent adventures flooded into his processor. “You know, I used to feel the same way. When I first realized what Sentinel Prime had done… I just couldn’t understand how my closest friends could question what I’d witnessed – they thought _I_ was the one who was crazy.”

She turned to him, scrutinizing optics giving way to genuine empathy. “I’m really sorry you had to go through all that. We’re glad that you’re okay. Truly.” He nodded in gratitude and she gave him a brief smile, before her expression once again turned somber. “Tell me honestly. Do you trust them?” Her head flicked in the direction of the Decepticons who were clustered in groups at the opposite end of the room.

Sunstreaker gazed across at the other faction. The answer to her question was one that he knew she would need to discover for herself. If the Decepticons were trustworthy, she would know it in time. Until then, nothing he said would really matter. Finally he shrugged. “Chromia seems to.” Pause. “To be honest, spending time on Alternity City… it kind of helped put things into a different perspective for me. All I know is that we’ve been fighting each other too long. We’re supposed to be on the same side – we’re all Cybertronians, after all.”

Firestar dwelled on his response for a moment. “Well, I sure hope you’re right. Because if not, we’re all going to find ourselves in a deep load of trouble,” she said, then fixed her attention on Astro, tracking his every move. “I, for one, don’t trust that mech as far as I can throw him.”

*

Rook was impressed by the level of skill and technique that Astro displayed as he performed the modifications on Jhiaxus. For a long time he did not speak or ask questions but simply watched, assisting when asked by holding steady the surgical implements as directed, or adjusting the flow of the polarizing particle beam, or monitoring the readouts that filled the screen of the portable scanner. Then, when Astro paused to evaluate their progress, Rook voiced the one question that was bothering him. “What I don’t understand is how did you get the codes to access his primary cortex?”

Astro’s gaze lingered for several astro-seconds on his smaller companion before refocusing his attention on Jhiaxus. Just when Rook thought he wouldn’t receive a reply, as he’d come to expect of Astro, he got one, albeit it raised more questions than it answered. “Let’s just say that I’ve known Jhiaxus for a lot longer than he’s known me, since before the First Great War. But he has no idea who I am.”

Intrigue crossed Rook’s face, but there was also annoyance. The First Great War was lifetimes ago, when their race was still relatively young. “What do you mean, he has no idea who you are?” he inquired, mindful to keep his voice low so as to avoid the Autobots’ inquisitive glances. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but weren’t you Scorponok’s most trusted confidante for vorns? And from what I recall, even Jhiaxus had the utmost faith in you, right up until–” He stopped abruptly when Astro turned to him again, yellow optics intense and unyielding.

“That just proves my point,” Astro said in a low voice, making sure no one was in audial range. “He has no idea who I really am, and neither does Scorponok. Think about it – how do you suppose I was able to gain his trust in the first place? Do you think that either of them would have allowed just any mech into their ranks?” He paused, took a deep intake. Glancing briefly around, he noted Firestar’s intense optics upon him and he grimaced slightly, turning his attention back to Rook. “Jhiaxus doesn’t know who I am because he blindly believes everything Scorponok tells him.” Astro stepped away to walk around the bench where Jhiaxus lay, and for the first time Rook noticed the other mech’s own inner struggle – it was a struggle that Astro usually kept well hidden. This was a rare opportunity.

“Astro, I want you to know that I was wrong back then…” the green mech replied, then left the rest unspoken. His words were spontaneous. No longer frustrated, he simply wanted to reach out to Astro, to let him know that he was there.

The blue mech continued speaking, though he kept his gaze averted. “I was never meant to remain on Alternity City for as long as I did. My original mission had been to infiltrate the Base and find out exactly how Scorponok was able to bring about the Great Devastation. So, two vorns ago I altered my identity and offered him my services. In proving my undying loyalty to him, he demanded that I betray the Decepticons, which is what I did – or, at least, it’s what he believed. However, my loyalty was always to Megatron, and always will be.”

“I… see.” Rook couldn’t believe that Astro was recounting at least some of his shrouded history, and he did not want him to stop. He wanted Astro to continue talking. However, something told him that there was much more to this particular story – _much_ more – but right now would be neither the time nor the place to tell it. They still had Jhiaxus to deal with. Nevertheless, what he’d gathered thus far was that whoever Astro had been before his identity change, he had probably been of a high rank. Perhaps, even part of the Decepticon High Command structure. In addition, some things he’d noticed about the mech were beginning to make more sense now, including the way that Astro was able to take command of the other Dcepticons and their mission on Alternity City without too much resistance. ”What… did you have to do? To prove your loyalty, I mean?” he ventured, in spite of himself.

Astro kept his optics on Jhiaxus’ unconscious features, speaking softly so that only Rook could hear. “At first, he wanted me to provide him with information about the Decepticons, carry out raids, steal tech and weapons, things like that. Then, just after he’d staged the revolt that lost us the accord with the Autobots, Scorponok found himself in a losing battle against both the Decepticons led by Megatron, _and_ the Autobots, so I made him an offer he couldn’t refuse. I helped him disappear without a trace during the battle at Darkmount, made it look like he’d been destroyed. Then, with my help, he was reformatted and – of course, I was sworn to secrecy.”

Rook was perplexed. “But – _why_?”

“Why, what?” Astro replied, catching Rook’s gaze, though he remained collected, calm. “Why didn’t we just put an end to him at Darkmount?”

“Yes – was he really worth it?”

“If Scorponok had been killed we would never have been able to discover his greatest secret. It wasn’t worth the risk. If he was able to destroy entire worlds, we had to make sure that no mech would ever have access to that same sort of power again.” He glanced back down at the recumbent jet, reminiscent. “I had to earn his trust. Which I did, and eventually, after a long time I was able to learn his secrets. Why do you think he wants me dead now? I know his plans, and I know what needs to be done to stop both him and Sentinel Prime from turning this entire Sector into a conglomerate of slave worlds, ruled by the Supremacist-Neutral Alliance.” Astro walked back around the bench to stand beside Rook. “There’s just one more thing I need to do here, then we’re done with him,” he said, changing the subject as he picked up the particle beam gun.

The blue mech focused on his work as he began to make the final modifications to Jhiaxus’ primary processor, and Rook watched him in silence. After a few minutes, Astro placed his beam gun and scanner down onto the bench and stepped back, folding his arms in contemplation.

“It was because of me… wasn’t it?” Rook said, and Astro turned to meet his optics, scrutinizing the smaller mech. “You said you were never meant to remain on Alternity City for as long as you did. It was because of me. Because of the choice I made. I screwed up,” he confessed, his tone melancholic.

Astro released a long exhale. “Yes, you screwed up. You had the chance to help us gain access to all of Jhiaxus’ information and put a stop to what he was doing – that _one_ chance – but you were too afraid… and so, after that many of our attempts failed. As a result, Sentinel Prime developed the Plague virus, with some help from Jhiaxus. And, as you already know, the Autobot-Neutral Alliance was formed soon after, Decepticons were hunted down and persecuted for crimes committed by Jhiaxus and the Neutrals, Megatron was forced into hiding… and I remained here, on Alternity City.” Unlike their first confrontation aboard Jhiaxus’ cruiser, this time Astro did not come across accusatory, nor did he demand anything of Rook – he seemed to simply be recalling events that had been buried in a past they all would rather forget. If anything he was empathetic, supportive even, had since forgiven Rook for his mistakes, though the consequences of the mech’s choices still remained to this day.

There was a long pause before Rook spoke again. “Why didn’t you just return to Cybertron?”

“Why?” Astro shrugged, though it was a thoughtful and deliberate gesture. “Because… the other part of my mission had been to keep track of a certain ex-Decepticon under Jhiaxus’ command, until he could be returned to us.”

Rook nodded, certain that he knew the identity of the Decepticon Astro was referring to. “Ah, you mean Comet?”

“Comet?” Astro repeated curiously, and then shook his head and smiled in amusement. “No – he was brought here after the Alliance was enacted. It was you, Rook. Megatron never gave up on you.”

As Astro placed a reassuring hand on his arm before walking away, deep regret yet also extreme gratitude washed over him.


End file.
